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THE  ETHEL  CARR  PEACOCK 
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1903 

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QUEEN  LOUISE. 


L  o%S"l 


FAMOUS 


TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD 


BY 

SARAH  KNOWLES  BOLTON 

AUTHOR  OF  “  POOR  BOYS  WHO  BECAME  FAMOUS,"  “  GIRLS  WHO  BECAME  FAMOUS," 
“  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  AUTHORS,"  “  FAMOUS  AMERICAN  STATESMEN," 

“  FAMOUS  MEN  OF  SCIENCE,"  “  FAMOUS  EUROPEAN  ARTISTS," 

“  SOCIAL  STUDIES  IN  ENGLAND,"  “  STORIES  FROM  LIFE,” 

“  FROM  HEART  AND  NATURE"  (pOEMs),  “  FAMOUS 
ENGLISH  AUTHORS,"  “  FAMOUS  ENGLISH 
STATESMEN,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


“  My  business  on  earth  is  to  do  what  good  I  can." 

John  Wesley. 

’lb'%0  1 

NEW  YORK  :  46  East  14TH  Street. 

THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  CO. 

BOSTON:  ioo  Purchase  Street. 


Copyright, 

1892, 

By  Thomas  Y.  Crowell  &  Co. 


?  -i  0.  7 

3  Is,  4  t r 

p 


TO 


FRANCES  E.  WILLARD, 


A  JSoble  Type  of  Womanhood. 


2  6‘  ?  <?  7 


PREFACE. 


When  Matthew  Vassar  gave  a  million  dollars  to  found 
Vassal- College,  he  said,  “I  considered  that  the  mothers 
of  a  country  mould  its  citizens,  determine  its  institutions, 
and  shape  its  destiny.”  Without  doubt  he  was  right. 
Though  not  all  the  women  in  this  book  were  mothers,  they 
helped  to  do  that  which  Mr.  Vassar  considered  directly 
traceable  to  woman’s  influence.  Queen  Louise  was  the 
inspirer  of  German  unity  ;  Madame  Recamier  will  always 
be  a  social  force  from  her  charm  of  manner  and  loveliness 
of  character;  the  results  of  Mrs.  Wesley’s  life  are  incal¬ 
culable  ;  Harriet  Martineau  moulded  public  opinion  as 
few  have  moulded  it ;  Jenny  Lind  taught  the  world  how 
to  use  a  marvellous  gift  for  good  ;  Miss  l)ix  will  show 
to  future  generations  what  a  retiring,  devoted  woman 
can  do  for  humanity.  The  power  of  true  womanhood,  in 
all  civilized  lands,  is  increasing  year  by  year,  and  with 
increase  of  power  comes  increase  of  responsibility. 


s.  k.  n. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS, 


PAGE 


Queen  Louise  oe  Prussia 

• 

.  9 

Madame  RIscamier 

.  G2 

Susanna  Wesley  .... 

.  105 

Harriet  Martineau 

.  150 

Jenny  Lind  ..... 

.  196 

Dorothea  Lynde  Dix 

.  241 

Ann,  Saraii  and  Emily  Judson 

. 

.  273 

Amelia  Blandfohd  Edwards 

,  , 

.  327 

QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


O  one  can  read  the  life  of  the  grand  old  Emperor 


-C  i  of  Germany,  William  I.,  without  seeing  how  his 
love  for  his  beautiful  young  mother  brightens  every  page. 
No  one  who  has  ever  stood  before  his  writing  table  in  his 
Berlin  palace  can  forget  the  lovely  face  that  always  hung 
before  him,  or,  in  summer,  the  blue  corn-flowers  at  his 
side,  dear  to  him  because  they  were  dear  to  her. 

He  said,  when  confirmed  at  the  age  of  eighteen  at 
Char lotten b urg ,  where  Louise  is  buried,  “  I  will  ever  bear 
in  mind  the  virtues  of  the  late  queen,  my  mother.  As 
long  as  I  live  my  mother  shall  live  in  my  heart  in  sweet, 
affectionate,  and  grateful  recollections.”  He  kept,  his 
word,  and  for  over  half  a  century  Louise  has  been  also 
the  ideal  and  the  idol  of  the  German  nation. 

Louise  Augusta  Wilhelmina  Amelia  was  born  at  Han¬ 
over,  March  10,  1776.  Her  father  was  Prince  Charles, 
afterwards  Grand  Duke  of  Mecklenburg-Strelitz,  the 
brother  of  Charlotte,  wife  of  George  III.  of  England. 
Her  mother  was  Princess  Frederica  Caroline  Louise  of 
Hesse-Darmstadt. 

When  Louise  was  six  months  old  the  family  removed 
from  the  unpretentious  home  in  which  she  was  born  to 
the  old  castle  of  Herrenhausen,  the  father  having  been 
made  Governor-General  of  Hanover.  Here  she  passed. 


10 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


her  happy  childhood  iu  the  midst  of  the  fountains,  trees, 
flowers,  and  statues  of  that  famous  garden  of  one  hundred 
and  twenty  acres. 

Princess  Frederica,  the  mother,  died  in  May,  1782,  at 
the  birth  of  her  tenth  child,  leaving  six  children  under 
twelve  years  of  age.  Louise  was  six.  Two  years  later, 
feeling  that  the  lonely  children  needed  a  mother,  Prince 
Charles  married  Charlotte,  his  wife’s  sister,  who  died  in 
fourteen  mouths,  leaving  an  infant  son. 

The  duke,  saddened  by  his  double  loss,  resigned  his 
governorship  in  1786  and  went  to  Darmstadt,  where  his 
children  could  have  the  care  of  their  maternal  grand¬ 
mother,  Princess  George  William  of  Hesse-Darmstadt. 
She  was  a  noble  woman,  and  with  the  governess,  a  Swiss 
lady,  Mile,  de  Gelieux,  reared  Germany’s  future  queen 
with  wisdom  and  in  Christian  principles. 

The  child  was  delighted  to  visit  the  poor  and  the  sick  in 
the  neighborhood  of  the  palace.  Catherine  E.  Hurst,  the 
wife  of  Bishop  John  F.  Hurst,  in  her  sympathetic  life  of 
Louise,  relates  many  touching  incidents. 

The  children  of  the  servants  of  the  royal  household  were 
allowed  to  play  with  the  little  princesses.  One  day  a  thun¬ 
der  storm  came  unexpectedly.  The  mothers  ran  for  their 
children,  all  except  one  little  girl  named  Hannah,  who  had 
no  mother.  When  Louise  saw  that  no  one  came  for  the 
child,  she  said,  “Be  quiet,  dear  Hannah;  do  not  be 
afraid  of  the  thunder  and  lightning  and  rain,  for  our 
dear  Saviour  sends  it ;  and  do  not  be  sad,  for  you  are  not 
alone,  I  am  with  you,  and  your  father  will  come  soon  and 
take  you  home.” 

“  But,”  said  the  child,  “  who  will  take  care  of  me  when 
my  father  dies  ?  ” 

“  Who  says  that  your  father  will  die?  ”  asked  Louise. 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


11 


“Oh,  my  aunt  says  that  he  suffers  so  much  from  pain 
iu  his  breast  when  he  must  run  so  rapidly  to  keep  pace 
with  the  horses,  that  he  can  live  but  a  very  short  time.” 

“  Be  assured  your  father  shall  not  die,  for  I  will  tell 
this  to  grandma,  and  she  will  give  him  another  position,” 
said  Louise. 

When  evening  came  Louise  told  her  grandmother,  weep¬ 
ing,  that  she  could  never  have  any  more  pleasure  in  driving 
if  the  footmen  w  ho  ran  beside  the  carriage  were  to  lose 
their  health  in  consequence.  The  grandmother  abandoned 
the  barbarous  custom. 

A  short  time  after  this,  scarlet  fever  appeared  in  its 
most  malignant  form  in  the  town,  and  many  of  the  chil¬ 
dren  were  laid  iu  their  graves.  Hannah  was  taken  ill. 
The  grandmother  gave  orders  that  a  physician  should 
attend  her,  and  report  to  the  palace.  Finally,  when  the 
fever  had  left  her,  and  Princess  George  felt  that  it  would 
be  safe  to  visit  the  little  girl,  she  did  so.  What  was  her 
astonishment  to  find  Louise  sitting  at  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
reading  to  Hannah,  while  the  sick  child  amused  herself 
with  the  princess’s  embroidered  handkerchief.  The  grand¬ 
mother  left  the  place  unobserved. 

When  Louise  returned  Princess  George  said,  “  Where 
have  you  been,  my  child?  ” 

“  O  grandma,”  she  said,  “  I  have  been  with  a  sick 
child,  who  has  no  mother,  and  no  grandmother  like  you, 
and  who  would  have  died  long  ago  if  I  had  not  visited 
her.  Will  you  not  forgive  me  for  not  telling  you  of  my 
visits  to  her  before  ?  ” 

“  You  know,  my  child,  this  disease  could  so  easily  have 
taken  you  from  us,  and  then  what  should  we  have  done? 
Oh,  the  grief  we  should  have  at  your  loss  !  ” 

“  I  knew  well,”  replied  Louise,  “  that  I  should  not  get 


12 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


the  disease,  for  der  liebe  Gott  —  the  dear  God  —  saw  that 
I  was  doing  good.” 

Louise  was  always  giving  to  those  in  need.  When  she 
was  thirteen  she  met  a  poor  widow  in  the  village,  who  was 
begging  for  her  hungry  children.  She  gave  the  widow 
all  she  had,  and  then  borrowed  from  an  old  servant  to 
make  other  gifts. 

Her  grandmother  reproved  her  for  making  debts,  and 
told  the  servant  that  he  ought  not  to  have  loaned  to  the 
child,  but  she  granted  Louise  an  increase  of  spending 
money,  stipulating  that  the  princess  should  pay  the  debt 
herself.  This  habit  of  giving  continued  through  life,  and 
Louise  always  spent  for  others  in  preference  to  herself. 

E.  II.  Hudson,  in  her  life  of  Louise,  tells  this  incident. 
Monsieur  Mideaelis,  the  editor  of  a  periodical,  gave  les¬ 
sons  to  Louise  and  her  sister.  He  was  not  prosperous, 
and  the  children  saw  that  he  was  troubled.  One  day 
Louise  offered  him  a  gold  cross,  saying,  “  We  are  afraid 
you  want  money,  and  we  are  so  sorry  that  we  have  not 
any  to  give  you ;  but  we  have  talked  it  over  and  have 
agreed  to  ask  you  if  you  will  accept  this  gold  ornament, 
which  is  the  most  valuable  thing  we  have.” 

The  gift  was  courteously  declined.  The  teacher  saw 
happier  days,  and  died,  in  1843,  professor  of  French  lit- 
erature  in  the  University  of  Tubingen. 

Louise  made  two  happy  visits  to  Frankfort,  —  one  when 
she  was  fourteen,  to  witness  the  coronation  of  Leopold  II., 
the  sou  of  Maria  Theresa,  and  the  other  when  she  was 
sixteen,  to  be  present  at  the  coronation  of  Francis  I.,  the 
son  of  Leopold. 

All  Frankfort  was  in  commotion  over  the  crowning  of 
Leopold  II.  The  jewels,  the  sword  of  Charlemagne,  and 
the  Gospel  printed  in  golden  characters,  on  which  the 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


13 


coronation  oaths  were  taken,  were  brought  from  the  towns 
of  Aix-la-Chapelle  and  Nuremburg,  the  attendants  bearing 
them  in  state  carriages  drawn  by  six  horses.  These  pre¬ 
cious  jewels  were  placed  in  the  chapel  of  the  cathedral, 
where  the  Emperor  was  to  put  on  bis  robes. 

At  ten  o’clock,  Leopold,  forty-four  years  of  age, 
mounted  on  his  richly  caparisoned  horse,  his  robe  of 
purple  glistening  with  diamonds  and  pearls,  and  the 
crown  of  Austria  on  bis  brow,  rode  toward  the  cathedral 
under  a  crimson  canopy  carried  over  his  head  by  twelve 
senators  of  Frankfort,  who  rode  on  each  side  of  the 
Emperor. 

Before  him  were  borne  the  crown  on  a  cushion  of  cloth 
of  gold,  the  scepter,  the  orb,  and  the  drawn  sword  of  St. 
Maurice. 

The  long  procession  was  most  picturesque  and  gorgeous. 
The  imperial  body-guard,  the  pages  in  black  and  yellow 
velvet,  the  halberdiers  in  black  velvet  tunics  laced  with 
gold  over  a  red  bodice,  long  lines  of  princes  and  nobles, 
made  an  imposing  sight. 

Within  the  cathedral  the  king  was  anointed  with  con¬ 
secrated  oil,  received  the  Holy  Communion,  and  ascended 
to  the  imperial  throne ;  without,  bells  were  rung,  cannon 
were  fired,  and  thousands  of  people  cried,  “  God  save  the 
Emperor.” 

After  the  coronation  the  Emperor  was  escorted  to  the 
Romer  palace,  over  a  bridge  carpeted  with  red,  black,  and 
gold,  which  carpet  the  people  immediately  seized  and 
divided  into  thousands  of  pieces. 

Louise  spent  these  days  of  the  coronation  at  the  home 
of  Goethe’s  mother.  Frau  Goethe  was  delighted  with  the 
natural,  merry  princess,  and  her  vivacious  sister  Frederica, 
and  often  told  the  story  of  a  pump  back  of  their  house, 


14 


FAMOUS  TYT.ES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


which  Louise,  espying,  said,  “Oh,  I  wonder  if  we  could 
make  the  water  rush  out.  1  should  like  to  try.” 

She  did  try  aud  succeeded,  greatly  shocking  the  lady 
attending  her,  but  Frau  Goethe  was  pleased,  and  said  :  — 

“I  would  rather  have  brought  any  vexation  on  myself 
than  permit  them  to  be  disturbed  in  the  innocent  pleasure 
that  was  permitted  them  nowhere  else ;  but  in  my  house 
the  young  people  greatly  enjoyed  the  liberty  granted  to 
them.  When  they  left  they  said  to  me  that  they  would 
never  forget  how  happy  they  had  been.” 

Leopold  did  not  reign  long.  His  sister,  Marie  Antoin¬ 
ette,  was  passing  through  the  terrors  of  the  French  Revo¬ 
lution,  and  urging  her  brother  to  aid  and  save  her  family. 
He  feared  to  make  enemies  of  the  successful  revolutionists, 
lest  harm  should  come  to  her.  He  therefore  tried  to  con¬ 
ciliate  the  people.  When  matters  became  desperate,  he 
and  Frederick  William  II.  signed  a  treaty  which  united 
Austria  and  Prussia  against  the  French.  Leopold  ad¬ 
dressed  a  letter  to  the  French  government,  which  only 
exasperated.  They  declared  war  against  Austria  and 
Prussia,  April  20,  1792,  and  hostilities  almost  immedi¬ 
ately  followed. 

Leopold  died  suddenly  a  month  before  the  war  broke 
out,  and  Francis  II.,  his  son,  at  the  age  of  twenty-five, 
came  to  the  throne.  Louise  saw  Frankfort  again  in  its 
gala  dress  at  this  coronation. 

The  war  went  on  in  earnest.  The  French  captured 
Mayence  and  advanced  towards  Frankfort.  Then  Prin¬ 
cess  George  with  her  granddaughters,  Louise  and  Freder- 
erica,  retreated  to  Hildburghhausen  in  Thuringia,  where 
Charlotte,  the  oldest  sister  of  Louise,  had  married  the 
Duke.  The  beautiful  country  was  enjoyed  by  the  prin¬ 
cesses,  but  all  were  filled  with  anxiety  about  the  war. 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


15 


Prussia  and  Austria,  urged  on  by  the  brave  and  ener¬ 
getic  statesman,  Stein,  turned  the  tide  of  battle.  They 
recovered  Frankfort,  Dec.  2  ;  the  King  of  Prussia  made  it 
his  headquarters,  and  both  armies  went  into  camp  for  the 
winter. 

Princess  George  ventured  to  return  to  Darmstadt, 
stopping  at  Frankfort  to  see  the  king,  who  was  her  nephew 
by  marriage.  She  called  with  Louise  and  Frederica,  and 
was  invited  to  dine  with  the  king  and  his  sons,  Frederick 
William  and  Louis. 

Louise  was  seventeen,  with  an  exquisite  complexion, 
large,  blue  eyes,  light  hair,  frank,  natural  manner,  and 
was  very  graceful.  Frederick  William,  the  crown  prince, 
was  twenty-three,  tall,  and  well-proportioned.  He  had  a 
thoughtful  face  and  somewhat  grave  manner.  He  was 
well-educated  and  of  admirable  character.  He  loved 
Louise  from  the  first.  He  told  Bishop  Eylert,  years  after 
her  death  :  — 

“  I  felt  when  I  first  saw  her,‘  ’T  is^he,  or  none  on  earth,’ 
—  that  expression  is  somewhere  in  Schiller,  I  forget  where, 
but  I  have  it,  and  it  exactly  describes  the  emotions  which 
sprang  up  in  my  heart  at  that  moment.” 

Bishop  Eylert  found  it  afterwards  in  “The  Bride  of 
Messina.” 

That  love  never  changed,  but  remains  one  of  the  beau¬ 
tiful  things  of  history  which  keep  bright  our  faith  in 
human  nature. 

The  brother  Louis  likewise  became  devoted  to  Freder¬ 
ica,  and  the  double  betrothal  was  celebrated  a  month  later 
in  Darmstadt,  the  king  assisting,  and  distributing  the  rings 
with  his  own  hands.  Later,  the  brides-elect  and  their 
grandmother  were  invited  to  see  the  camj)  at  Mayence. 

Goethe,  then  forty-five,  saw  the  king  and  the  court 


16 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


party.  He  wrote  :  “  Toward  evening  there  was  prepared 
for  us,  but  especially  for  me,  a  lovely  sight.  The  Prin¬ 
cesses  of  Mecklenburg  had  dined  at  the  headquarters  of 
his  majesty  the  king,  and  after  dinner  visited  the  camp. 

I  confined  myself  to  my  tent,  and  could  thus  most  per¬ 
fectly  observe  the  high-born  personages,  who  walked  up 
and  down  before  me  quite  at  their  ease.  In  this  tumult 
of  war,  one  might  really  consider  the  two  princesses  as 
heavenly  visions.  The  impression  which  they  made  upon 
me  will  never  be  obliterated.” 

The  war  went  on  with  varying  success.  Meantime  the 
French  Revolution  was  doing  its  work.  Louis  XVI.  had 
perished  on  the  scaffold,  Jan.  21,  1793,  the  beating  of 
drums  drowning  his  last  words,  “  I  am  innocent  of  all 
the  crimes  laid  to  my  charge ;  I  forgive  those  who  have 
occasioned  my  death ;  I  pray  to  God  that  the  blood  you 
are  about  to  shed  may  never  be  visited  on  France;  I 
heartily  wish  —  ” 

Marie  Antoinette  was  guillotined  eight  months  after¬ 
wards,  Oct.  16,  1793,  at  the  age  of  thirty-nine. 

Two  years  later,  Frederick  William  II.,  worn  with  the 
war,  his  country  drained  of  men  and  money,  concluded 
the  treaty  of  Basle  with  the  French  Republic,  Jan.  22, 
1795. 

The  marriage  of  the  crown  prince  and  Louise  was  set 
for  Christmas  Eve,  1793.  The  bridegrooms,  Frederick 
William  and  Louis,  waited  at  Potsdam  the  arrival  of  the 
princesses.  Troops  of  horsemen  rode  out  to  meet  them, 
while  the  town  was  thronged  with  various  guilds  in  showy 
costumes. 

The  butchers  wore  brown  coats  with  gold  bands  on  their 
sleeves,  red  waistcoats  embroidered  in  gold,  and  hats 
with  red  feathers.  Many  years  afterwards  Louise  gave 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PLUS  SI  A. 


17 


them  a  new  standard  in  remembrance  of  this  day,  when 
the  one  which  they  then  unfurled  was  worn  out. 

Two  days  later,  the  stately  entrance  was  made  into 
Berlin.  Six  royal  secretaries  at  the  head  of  forty  postil¬ 
ions  led  the  procession.  Now  followed  guilds,  corpora¬ 
tions,  merchants,  citizens,  —  a  great  concourse  of  people. 
To  the  royal  carriage  eight  horses  were  harnessed,  while 
six  drew  the  state  carriage  in  which  rode  the  princesses 
and  the  lady-in-waiting. 

About  noon,  Dec.  23,  the  royal  procession  entered  Ber¬ 
lin  through  the  Potsdam  gate.  Opposite  the  Royal  Palace 
a  triumphal  edifice  had  been  erected,  where  the  statue  of 
Frederick  the  Great  now  stands,  the  pillars  covered  with 
evergreens,  while  chains  of  flowers  were  suspended  from 
arch  to  arch. 

Thirty  boys  in  green  and  more  than  fifty  girls  in  white 
and  pink,  with  green  wreaths  in  their  hands,  were  sta¬ 
tioned  near  the  triumphal  arch  to  await  the  coming  of  the 
princesses.  When  the  state  carriage  arrived,  a  little  boy 
came  forward  to  recite  a  poem ;  then  a  little  girl  proffered 
flowers,  and  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  Louise  bent 
over  and  kissed  her. 

“What  has  your  Highness  done?”  said  the  lady-in- 
waiting. 

Louise  was  startled  and  exclaimed  :  — 

“  What,  is  that  wrong?  May  I  never  do  that  again?  ” 

At  three  o’clock  the  princesses  were  received  by  the 
queen.  The  following  day,  at  six  o’clock  on  Christmas 
Eve,  all  the  members  of  the  royal  family  assembled  in 
the  queen’s  apartments,  when  the  diamond  crown  of  the 
Hohenzollerns  was  placed  upon  the  head  of  Louise.  After 
spending  a  little  time  with  Elizabeth  Christine,  the  aged 
widow  of  Frederick  the  Great,  the  company  repaired  to 


18 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


the  white  drawing-room  which  is  decorated  in  white  and 
silver ;  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  under  a  crimson  canopy 
embroidered  with  gold  crowns,  Frederick  William  and 
Louise  knelt  on  an  elegant  cushion,  and  were  united  in 
marriage. 

After  the  wedding  banquet,  served  in  five  state  apart¬ 
ments,  a  ball  followed.  Everybody  spoke  of  the  beauti¬ 
ful  bride.  She  was  dressed  in  silver  glace,  her  corsage 
glittering  with  diamonds  to  correspond  with  her  crown. 
She  bowed  and  smiled  with  that  artless  grace  which  she 
possessed  through  life.  Fouque,  the  poet,  said  :  — 

“  The  arrival  of  the  angelic  princess  spreads  over  these 
days  a  noble  splendor.  All  hearts  go  out  to  meet  her, 
and  her  grace  and  goodness  leave  no  one  unblessed.” 

The  citizens  of  Berlin  wished  to  celebrate  the  wedding 
with  a  great  illumination,  but  at  the  request  of  the  Crown 
Prince,  the  money,  which  would  have  been  thus  expended, 
was  given  to  the  widows  and  orphans  of  those  who  had 
fallen  in  the  late  war. 

Prince  Louis  and  Frederica  were  married  three  days 
later,  Dec.  27. 

Frederick  William  and  Louise  went  at  once  to  live  in 
their  own  palace,  at  the  head  of  Unter  den  Linden.  Here 
Frederick  lived  and  died,  bequeathing  it  to  his  grandson, 
afterwards  Emperor  Frederick  I.,  who  married  Victoria, 
Princess  Royal  of  Great  Britain. 

At  the  palace  a  happy  married  life  began.  The  crown 
prince  was  called  the  handsomest  man  in  Prussia ;  tall, 
and  with  military  bearing,  and  as  good  as  he  was  hand¬ 
some.  His  wife  attracted  everybody  by  her  sweetness  of 
manner,  her  musical  voice,  her  joyous  disposition,  her 
brilliant  conversation,  and  her  generous  heart. 

King  Frederick  William  II.  was  very  fond  of  Louise, 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


19 


whom  he  called  the  “princess  of  princesses,”  and  on 
March  10,  the  first  birthday  after  her  marriage,  when  she 
was  eighteen,  he  gave  her  the  palace  of  Oranienburg 
(Orange-burg),  about  twenty  miles  north  of  Berlin.  It 
was  built  for  Louise  of  Orange,  the  lovely  and  cultivated 
mother  of  the  Elector  of  Brandenburg,  who  became  the 
first  king  of  Prussia. 

The  king  asked  Louise  what  would  most  gratify  her  on 
her  birthday.  She  replied,  “  A  handful  of  gold,  to  dis¬ 
tribute  among  the  poor  of  Berlin.” 

“  How  large  a  handful  would  the  birthday-child  like  to 
have?  ”  asked  the  king. 

She  replied  quickly,  “As  large  as  the  heart  of  the 
best  of  kings.” 

She  received  a  large  sum,  which  was  carefully  distrib¬ 
uted.  She  gave  a  feast  to  her  servants  on  this  birthday, 
each  being  allowed  to  invite  several  guests,  and  eighty 
came.  She  wished  the  number  had  been  one  hundred. 
Both  Frederick  and  Louise  disliked  the  ceremonial  of 
court  life.  Once  when  they  had  returned  from  some  court 
festival,  the  crown  prince  took  hold  of  both  her  hands 
and  said,  “  Thank  God,  you  are  my  wife  once  more.” 

“  Am  I  not  always  your  wife,  then?  ”  she  asked. 

“  Alas  !  no,”  he  said  ;  “  you  must  too  often  be  only  the 
crown  princess.” 

The  prince  would  not  use  the  customary  six  horses 
and  pages,  but  sat  beside  his  wife,  in  a  carriage  drawn 
by  two  horses,  like  any  citizen.  He  was  conscious  of  the 
financial  condition  of  his  country,  and  wished  to  practice 
a  reasonable  economy. 

They  read  much  together,  Louise  being  especially  fond 
of  history  and  poetry.  She  took  delight  in  the  w'orks  of 
Goethe,  Schiller,  Richter,  and  others.  Herder’s  poems 


20 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


she  carried  with  her  in  her  journeys.  She  read  Shakes¬ 
peare  in  English,  and  the  Greek  tragedies  in  translation, 
making  long  extracts  which  pleased  her,  and  adding  her 
own  pertinent  remarks  on  the  margin.  Schiller’s  “  His- 
tory  of  the  Netherlands,”  and  “  History  of  the  Thirty 
Years’  War,”  and  also  Gibbon’s  “  Decline  and  Fall  of 
the  Roman  Empire,”  with  the  “  History  of  England,” 
she  read  carefully.  Several  years  later,  when  Richter  ded¬ 
icated  his  “  ‘  Titan’  to  the  four  beautiful  and  noble  sisters 
on  the  throne,”  the  Mecklenburg  princesses,  and  sent 
Louise  a  copy,  she  wrote  back :  — 

I  have  received  your  “  Titan,”  and  observed  with  pleasure 
from  it  that  you  continue  to  interest  your  contemporaries  in 
truths  which  cannot  fail  to  influence  them,  dressed  as  they  are 
in  the  garb  of  romantic  poetry.  Your  object,  to  free  mankind 
from  many  a  dark  cloud,  is  too  beautiful  not  to  be  realized,  and 
it  will  therefore  be  a  pleasure  to  me  to  see  you  during  your  stay 
here,  and  to  show  you  how  much  I  am, 

Your  kindly  affectionate,  Louise. 

Once  when  talking  with  Frau  Goethe  about  German 
literature,  Louise  unclasped  a  gold  necklace,  and  gave  it  to 
her  as  a  tribute  to  the  genius  of  her  son.  The  mother  was 
very  proud  of  it,  and  wore  it  only  on  rare  occasions. 

Both  Frederick  and  Louise  were  musical,  the  former 
understanding  the  science  of  music  so  well  that  he  often 
composed  marches,  which  were  played  by  the  bands. 

In  the  year  1794,  Louise  lost  her  first  child,  a  daughter. 
The  next  year,  Oct.  15,  1795,  her  first  son,  afterwards 
Frederick  William  IV.,  was  born  at  Oranienburg.  He  had 
many  sponsors  :  his  two  grandfathers,  the  Empress  Catha¬ 
rine  of  Russia,  Francis  II.,  George  III.,  Queen  Charlotte, 
and  others. 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


21 


Oranienburg  was  too  stately  for  two  persons  who  de¬ 
sired  a  quiet  home,  so  the  estate  of  Paretz,  the  former 
home  of  one  of  the  crown  prince’s  tutors,  was  purchased, 
with  its  castle,  for  thirty  thousand  thalers. 

Frederick  said  to  the  architect  who  rebuilt  it,  “Always 
bear  in  mind  that  you  are  building  for  a  poor  proprietor.” 
The  house  was  furnished  simply,  and  the  garden  was  a 
restful  retreat.  The  tall  poplars  and  other  majestic  trees 
were  a  great  delight  to  the  young  wife,  who  loved  nature 
intensely. 

“Amid  the  quiet  and  beauty  of  nature,”  she  said,  “  I  can 
best  rally  and  collect  my  mind,  whose  chords,  like  those 
of  an  instrument  of  music,  need  each  day  to  be  drawn  up 
in  order  to  get  the  right  tone.  If  I  neglect  this,  I  feel 
out  of  harmony.” 

A  rural  village  was  on  the  estate  of  Paretz,  and  soon 
the  people  came  to  know  her  and  to  love  her.  Once  she 
gave  all  the  children  of  the  village  new  clothes  for  the  har¬ 
vest  festival. 

Not  far  from  Paretz,  in  the  river  Havel,  is  Pfaueninsel 
(Peacock  Island),  which  Frederick  converted  into  a  park. 
Here,  after  they  had  become  king  and  queen,  they  often 
dined  with  their  children  beneath  the  beech  trees. 

One  summer  evening,  as  they  were  sitting  under  some 
great  oaks  on  the  island,  they  l’equested  Bishop  Eylert  to 
read  a  sermon  which  he  had  recently  preached  on  Christian 
marriage  from  the  words  of  Ruth  to  Naomi :  “  Entreat 
me  not  to  leave  thee,  or  to  return  from  following  after 
thee  :  for  whither  thou  goest,  I  will  go ;  and  where  thou 
lodgest,  I  will  lodge  :  thy  people  shall  be  my  people,  and 
thy  God  my  God  :  where  thou  diest,  will  I  die,  and  there 
will  I  be  buried.” 

They  sat  till  the  moon  rose,  and  distant  music  floated 


22 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


through  the  air.  Frederick  broke  the  silence,  laying  his 
hand  on  Louise’s  shoulder,  saying  with  tenderness,  “  This 
is  my  intention,  dear  Louise  :  I  and  my  house,  we  will 
serve  the  Lord.” 

He  went  down  by  the  river  alone  to  meditate,  while 
Louise  conversed  with  the  bishop  :  “  Only  in  faith  can  I 
find  support,”  she  said.  “  In  the  longing  after  happiness 
I  become  sensible  of  a  deep  emptiness  in  my  heart  which 
nothing  earthly  can  satisfy.  .  .  .  What  elevates  me  most 
and  gives  me  the  most  happiness,  is  the  thought  that  the 
king  and  I  fully  accord  in  our  religious  convictions.  I 
believe  he  is  the  best  man  and  Christian  on  earth.  Did 
you  hear,  as  you  finished  reading  your  sermon,  how  lie 
said,  with  heartfelt  emotion,  ‘  This  is  my  intention :  I 
and  my  house,  we  will  serve  the  Lord  ’  ?  ” 

Two  English  travellers  rowed  over  one  day  from  Pots¬ 
dam  to  Pfaueninsel,  and  were  told  by  the  court  cham¬ 
berlain  that  the  grounds  were  not  open  to  the  public,  as 
the  king  and  queen  were  there.  They  communicated  their 
disappointment  to  a  gentleman  and  lady,  simply  dressed, 
whom  they  met. 

“  Ah  !  ”  said  the  gentleman,  “  that  was  Herr  von  Mos- 
sow.  I  know  him  well ,  and  if  you  like  to  walk  round 
the  island  I  will  excuse  j’ou  to  him.” 

“You  had  better  come  with  us,”  said  the  lady,  “  for 
you  are  strangers  here,  and  we  can  show  you  every  thing 
worth  looking  at.” 

They  talked  of  England,  and  the  lady’s  sweet  face 
seemed  to  them  full  of  expression.  As  they  approached 
the  castle,  breakfast  was  announced,  and  they  perceived, 
to  their  astonishment,  that  they  were  in  the  presence  of 
the  king  and  queen,  who  had  been  their  guides.  They 
were  cordially  invited  to  the  breakfast. 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


23 


Death  came  once  and  again  to  disturb  this  happy  life. 
Prince  Louis,  to  whom  his  brother  Frederick  was  devot¬ 
edly  attached,  died  Dec.  28,  1796,  of  typhus  fever,  leav¬ 
ing  Frederica  at  eighteen  with  an  infaul  son.  The  crown 
prince  would  not  leave  him,  and  took  the  disease,  but 
recovered.  The  young  widow  was  at  once  taken  to  the 
home  of  Louise. 

Three  weeks  later  the  widow  of  Frederick  the  Great, 
Queen  Elizabeth  Christine,  died  at  the  age  of  eighty-one, 
and  was  buried  in  the  royal  vault  back  of  Berlin  cathedral. 

She  must  have  led  a  lonely  life  with  Frederick,  who, 
at  the  command  of  his  father,  married  her  rathex  than  the 
Princess  Amelia  of  England,  of  whom  he  was  fond.  He 
would  never  live  with  her.  lie  had  been  reared  by  a  most 
.tyrannical  father,  who  once  condemned  him  to  death  for 
trying  to  escape  to  England,  but  he  was  saved  by  the 
generals  of  the  army  and  the  representatives  of  foreign 
powers,  who  assured  the  king  that  the  heir  to  the  throne 
belonged  to  the  nation  more  than  to  him. 

Frederick  passed  his  life  either  on  the  battlefield  or 
surrounded  by  men  of  letters  at  Sans-Souci,  his  pet  grey¬ 
hounds  for  his  dumb  companions.  His  sister  Wilhelmina, 
the  playmate  of  his  childhood,  whom  he  tenderly  loved, 
died  when  he  was  in  middle  life. 

Once  a  year,  on  her  birthday,  he  went  to  call  upon  Eliz¬ 
abeth  Christine  at  her  secluded  abode  at  Schonhausen. 
She  gave  herself  to  charities,  and  wrote  several  religious 
books,  a  copy  of  each  of  which  she  presented  to  Fred¬ 
erick,  who  had  them  handsomely  bound,  though  whether 
he  ever  read  them  or  not  is  doubtful.  He  sometimes 
made  her  valuable  presents,  but  she  was  never  permitted 
to  come  to  Sans-Souci,  though  she  adored  him. 

Elizabeth  Christine  grieved  sadly  on  hearing  of  iris 


24 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


death  at  Sans-Souci,  on  the  night  of  Aug.  16,  1786,  when 
he  expired  in  the  arms  of  a  servant  at  twenty  minutes 
past  two,  his  little  Italian  greyhound  watching  beside  him. 
Observing  the  dog  tremble,  he  directed  that  a  covering  be 
thrown  over  it.  He  would  not  allow  his  wife  to  be  sent 
for. 

She  survived  him  eleven  years,  and  had  the  small  com¬ 
fort  of  making  a  handsome  cloth  for  the  communion  table, 
which  stands  before  the  chamber  where  he  lies  buried  in 
the  Garrison  Church,  at  Potsdam. 

After  her  death,  Frederick  William  II.  said,  “  It  will 
be  my  turn  next.”  He  died  the  same  year,  Nov.  16, 
1797,  and  was  buried  in  the  crypt  of  Berlin  Cathedral. 
With  all  his  failings,  and  his  life  had  been  far  from  moral, 
he  had  been  a  good  father  to  Louise.  He  left,  says  E.  H. 
Hudson,  “  a  legacy  of  three  very  great  evils,  —  a  demoral¬ 
ized  nation,  his  own  cabinet  ministers,  and  an  exhausted 
treasury.  .  .  .  The  most  imminent,  though  the  least  im¬ 
portant,  of  the  dangers  arising  out  of  these  evils,  was  the 
want  of  money.  Frederick  the  Great  had  left  the  sum  of 
ten  million  pounds  in  the  treasury,  —  it  was  all  gone,  and 
instead  of  it  there  was  a  heavy  debt  which  the  new  king 
felt  bound  to  discharge  as  quickly  as  possible.” 

The  crown  prince  now  became  King  Frederick  William 
III.,  and  Louise  was  queen.  They  did  not  change  their 
home,  for  Frederick  said  :  — 

“  The  king  will  have  to  live  on  the  revenues  of  the 
crown  prince.” 

A  second  son  had  been  born  to  them,  March  22,  1797, 
Frederick  William  Louis,  afterwards  Emperor  William  I. 
of  Germany.  The  king  and  queen  walked  arm-in-arm  as 
formerly  in  the  Enter  den  Linden,  and  belonged  to  their 
people  as  their  great  son  William  did  after  them. 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


25 


They  visited  the  Christmas  fair  in  Berlin.  At  one  of 
the  stalls,  a  woman  about  to  make  a  purchase,  recogniz¬ 
ing  them,  stepped  back.  “  Do  not  go  away,  my  dear 
woman,”  said  the  queen.  “What  will  the  stall-keeper 
sa}T,  if  we  drive  away  his  customers?” 

She  then  inquired  if  the  woman  had  come  to  buy  toys 
for  her  children,  and  asked  how  many  she  had.  On  learn¬ 
ing  that  there  was  a  son  about  the  age  of  her  eldest,  she 
said  :  — 

“Take  these  toys  and  give  them  to  your  crown  prince 
in  the  name  of  mine.” 

The  queen  seemed  never  to  forget  the  small  courtesies 
of  life,  showing  how  thoroughly  kind  she  was  at  heart. 
When  a  count  and  the  court-shoemaker  were  announced 
at  the  same  time,  she  received  the  shoemaker  first,  say¬ 
ing :  — 

“The  mechanic’s  time  is  far  more  valuable  than  the 
count’s.  The  tradesman  must  be  attended  to  first,  and 
the  count  must  wait.” 

At  a  military  festival,  the  Garrison  Church  at  Potsdam 
was  so  densely  crowded  that  a  woman  by  mistake  sat  in 
the  royal  pew.  The  lady-in-waiting  reprimanded  her  after 
the  service,  as  not  showing  proper  respect  to  the  queen. 
Louise  heard  of  it,  and  sent  for  Bishop  Eylert. 

“Come  and  drive  with  us  to-day  on  Pfaueninsel,  and 
tell  me  that  you  have  set  the  good  woman’s  mind  at  rest. 
Bring  her  to  me  to-morrow,  for  I  should  like  to  know  her 
personally,  and  to  speak  to  her  myself.” 

To  a  friendly  note  of  invitation  to  Seheffner,  the  aged 
councillor  of  war,  she  added  this  postscript :  “  Pray  wear 
your  boots,  and  do  not  come  in  thin  stockings ;  I  am  sure 
they  cannot  be  good  for  you  ;  and  as  }Tou  know,  I  am 
fond  of  old  friends,  so  I  like  to  take  care  of  them.” 


26 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


The  distinguished  soldier  said  :  — 

“  I  have  never  seen  in  any  woman’s  face  eyes  of  a 
purer,  freer  expression,  such  gladsome  ingenuousness, 
almost  bordering  upon  childishness.” 

The  queen  often  asked  Bishop  Eylert  to  inquire  into 
the  cases  of  various  applicants,  and  wished  him  to  be 
lenient.  She  said  :  — 

“The  lines  which  separate  deserved  from  undeserved 
suffering  are  very  seldom  distinctly  drawn  ;  they  run  into 
each  other,  and  we  ought  not  to  forget  how  unworthy  we 
are  to  receive  the  rich  blessings  that  God  bestows  on  us.” 

She  wrote  in  1797,  “To  train  my  children  to  become 
benevolent  lovers  of  mankind  is  my  warmest  and  dearest 
wish.  I  even  nourish  the  glad  hope  of  fulfilling  my  aim.” 
And  she  set  them  a  wonderful  example. 

Six  months  after  the  death  of  Frederick  William  II., 
the  king  and  queen  made  a  tour  of  their  Eastern  prov¬ 
inces.  At  Stargard,  in  Pomerania,  where  a  great  crowd 
had  assembled,  nineteen  little  girls  strewed  flowers  in 
their  way.  One  of  the  children  told  Louise  that  one  of 
their  number  had  been  sent  home  “because  she  was  not 
pretty  enough.” 

“  The  poor  child,”  said  the  queen,  “  she  has  rejoiced 
over  our  coming,  and  now  she  must  be  weeping  at  home.” 
The  queen  immediately  sent  for  her,  and  showed  her  much 
kindness. 

At  Elbing,  a  man  knelt  before  the  king,  presenting  a 
petition.  The  king  took  it  and  bade  the  man  rise,  say¬ 
ing,  “No  man  should  kneel  before  any  human  being.” 

At  Dantzig,  the  amber-workers  gave  her  a  beautiful 
necklace,  which  she  wore  as  long  as  she  remained  in  the 
city,  much  to  the  joy  of  the  artisans.  At  Konigsberg, 
they  stayed  a  week.  The  merchants  collected  a  large 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


27 


sum  of  money  amongst  themselves,  and  made  a  dinner 
for  the  poor,  giving  each  a  useful  present  and  a  dollar  in 
remembrance  of  the  royal  visit. 

On  their  return,  they  repaired  to  one  of  their  favorite 
homes,  Gharlottenburg,  the  former  residence  of  Sophia 
Charlotte,  the  first  queen  of  Prussia.  She  was  a  woman 
of  unusual  mind,  and  a  friend  of  the  great  Leibnitz,  with 
whom  she  corresponded  for  many  years.  When  near  her 
death,  she  said  to  her  attendants  :  — 

“  Do  not  grieve  for  me ;  I  am  now  going  where  my 
intense  curiosity  will  be  satisfied  as  to  the  primeval  cause 
of  those  things  which  Leibnitz  has  never  been  able  to 
explain  to  me,  —  time,  space,  and  eternity.” 

On  July  13,  1798,  the  fourth  child  of  Queen  Louise,  a 
daughter,  Frederica  Louise  Charlotte,  was  born  at  Char- 
lottenburg.  She  married,  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  Nicholas, 
the  Tsar  of  Russia,  and  died  in  1860. 

On  Oct.  13,  1799,  a  fifth  child,  a  daughter,  was  born 
in  the  royal  family ;  she  died  in  the  following  year,  of 
whooping  cough. 

In  August,  1800,  Louise  took  another  journey  with  the 
king.  The  coal  mines  at  Waldenburg  deeply  interested 
her.  Dressed  in  the  garb  of  a  miner  —  a  suit  had  been 
especially  prepared  for  her  —  she  went  into  the  cavern 
in  the  hillside  in  a  boat,  as  a  stream  runs  through  it. 

Twenty  years  afterward,  Prince  Radziwill  asked  the 
miners  if  they  remembered  the  visit. 

“Yes,”  said  an  old  man;  “about  half  of  us  are  alive 
who  had  the  honor  of  rowing  the  boat  on  that  day  :  three 
of  us  are  with  you  now.  I  sat  at  the  rudder.  I  could 
see  the  queen’s  sweet  face  well  by  the  light  of  the  lamps. 
I  had  never  seen  such  a  sweet  face  before  in  all  my 
life.  She  looked  grand  as  a  queen  should  look,  but  she 


28 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


was  as  gentle  as  a  child,  and  had  the  sweetest  smile  I 
ever  saw. 

“We  sang  the  ninety-sixth  psalm:  ‘O  sing  unto  the 
Lord  a  new  song:  sing  unto  the  Lord,  all  the  earth.’ 
The  queen  took  the  king’s  hand,  and  said  softly,  ‘  My 
favorite  psalm  ;  this  is  heavenly  !  ’  And  then  turning  to 
me,  she  said,  ‘More  slowly,  my  good  steersman.’  The 
king  and  queen  made  us  all  presents.  She  gave  me  with 
her  own  hand  two  new  Holland  ducats.  I  gave  them  to 
my  wife,  and  she  wears  them  as  a  necklace  when  she  goes 
to  church,  for  what  she  touched  is  holy.  Ah  !  that  was  a 
woman  indeed  !  Why  did  the  good  God  take  her  from  us 
so  soon?  She  did  everything  kindly,  and  loved  us  all. 
She  took  away  her  mining  dress  to  remind  her  of  us,  as 
she  told  us.” 

Louise  was  now  twenty-four  years  old. 

“She  reminds  me,”  says  Mrs.  Richard  Trench,  in  the 
life  of  her  written  by  her  son,  the  Dean  of  Westminster, 
“  of  Burke’s  star  (Marie  Antoinette),  glittering  with  life, 
splendor,  and  joy,  and  realized  all  the  fanciful  ideas  one 
forms  in  one’s  infancy  of  the  young,  gay,  beautiful,  and 
magnificent  queens  in  the  Arabian  Nights.  She  is  an 
angel  of  loveliness,  mildness,  and  grace,  tall  and  slender, 
yet  sufficiently  embonpoint;  her  hair  is  light,  her  com¬ 
plexion  fair  and  faultless  ;  an  inexpressible  air  of  sweet¬ 
ness  reigns  in  her  countenance,  and  forms  its  predominant 
character.” 

After  the  queen’s  early  death,  another  lady  wrote  :  — 

“  Why  can  I  not  hold  fast  such  features  of  her  noljje 
image  as  still  float  fresh  in  my  mind  ?  The  nameless  grace 
of  her  greeting,  the  inimitable  rhythm  of  her  walk  and 
bow,  or  the  childlike  repose  of  her  gentle  and  yet  earnest 
glance,  or  the  gliding  of  her  royal  form  into  a  splendid 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


29 


assembly  in  which,  however  large  it  might  be,  she  appeared 
always  the  fairest,  the  first,  the  only  one.  Of  her  was 
true  in  its  full  sense  Ossian’s  praise,  ‘  beautiful  among 
thousands.’  If  one  tried  to  compare  others  with  her,  and 
considered  their  forms  more  beautiful  in  single  features, 
none  stood  the  comparison.  The  character  of  her  beauty 
lay  in  the  harmony  of  her  nature.  Here  prevailed  tender¬ 
ness,  gentleness,  and  perfect  naturalness.” 

In  1801,  June  29,  a  third  son,  Frederick  Charles 
Alexander,  was  born  to  them.  In  the  summer  of  1802, 
Frederick  and  Louise  made  another  tour  of  their  provinces, 
receiving  an  ovation  from  their  people. 

At  Memel,  Alexander  I.,  Emperor  of  Russia,  spent  a 
week  with  the  king  and  queen.  The  ship-owners  and 
merchants  gave  a  brilliant  ball  which  was  opened  by  the 
Emperor  of  Russia  and  the  Queen  of  Prussia.  The  em¬ 
peror  was  commanding  in  appearance  as  well  as  winning 
in  face,  with  many  admirable  qualities. 

The  next  year,  Feb.  23,  1803,  the  seventh  child,  Fred¬ 
erica  Wilhelmina  Alexandra,  was  born.  She  afterwards 
became  Grand  Duchess  of  Mecklenburg-Schwerin. 

The  royal  home  continued  happy  and  peaceful.  The 
king  visited  the  nursery  every  morning,  and  received  the 
children  from  their  mother,  kissing  and  playing  with  each. 
Every  night,  before  retiring,  the  king  and  queen  visited 
their  sleeping  children  and  kissed  them.  The  king  was 
always  quiet  and  somewhat  grave ;  the  queen,  light¬ 
hearted  and  witty,  the  joy  of  every  circle,  and  the  idol 
of  her  children. 

One  day  when  she  was  standing  before  the  window  of 
the  castle  at  Potsdam,  holding  one  of  her  children,  and 
allowing  it  to  play  with  a  gold  piece,  a  poorly  dressed  old 
man  approached,  and  asked  charity. 


30 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


The  king  responded  pleasantly,  “Ask  this  lady;  you 
see  she  allows  her  child  to  play  with  gold  pieces.  I  have 
not  my  purse  with  me.” 

The  queen  gave  the  little  prince  some  money  (between 
fourteen  and  fifteen  dollars) ,  and  said  :  — 

“  Give  them  to  the  man.” 

The  old  man  received  them  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  As 
soon  as  he  had  gone,  the  queen  called  him  back  and  asked 
his  name. 

“  Berghof,”  he  replied.  “  I  was  formerly  a  saddler  in 
Brandenburg ;  for  twenty-three  years  I  served  F rederick 
the  Great,  and  was  discharged  as  sergeant.” 

“  Without  a  pension?  ”  asked  the  queen. 

“  Yes,  madam.” 

“This  gentleman,”  said  Louise,  pointing  to  the  king, 
“says  he  has  not  his  purse  with  him;  but  he  has  pen, 
ink,  and  paper,  and  his  hand- writing  is  as  good  as  gold.” 

Whereupon  the  king  wrote  on  a  slip  of  paper  and  gave 
to  the  man  :  — 

Old  Berghof,  of  Brandenburg,  is  to  receive  a  pension  of 
twelve  thalers  monthly  from  the  extraordinary  treasury  of 
war. 

Frederick  William. 

At  another  time  she  saw  a  sick  man  on  a  bench  at 
Potsdam.  Thinking  him  needy,  she  asked  her  servant  to 
give  the  man  ten-  dollars,  while  she  walked  on. 

The  man,  who  was  a  master-mason,  refused  it.  Fear¬ 
ing  that  she  had  hurt  his  feelings,  she  returned  and  said  :  — 

“  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me  if  I  have  given  offence.  I 
did  not  intend  it.” 

She  asked  if  he  would  not  come  to  the  palace  and  let 
her  cook  prepare  his  dinners  till  he  was  well,  which  kind¬ 
ness  he  gladly  accepted. 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


31 


The  queen  gave  so  much  in  charities  that  the  treasurer 
felt  that  he  must  confer  with  the  kiug  about  it,  and  she 
gave  him  leave.  The  next  time  she  opened  the  drawer  of 
her  writing-desk,  she  found  that  it  had  been  refilled  with 
money. 

“  What  angel  has  filled  that  box  again?”  she  asked. 

“The  angels  are  legion,”  replied  the  kindly  king. 

While  generous  himself,  he  was  prudent  in  expendi¬ 
tures.  He  said:  — 

“  The  secret  of  dollars  lies  in  groschen  ;  whoever  would 
possess  the  one  should  be  careful  of  the  other.” 

When  he  was  ten  years  old,  being  very  fond  of  cherries, 
a  basket  was  brought  him  from  the  hot-house,  grown  in 
winter.  When  he  found  that  they  cost  five  dollars,  he 
refused  to  eat  them.  Yet,  while  averse  to  spending  for 
himself,  he  sent  at  this  time  twenty  dollars  to  a  poor 
shoemaker  to  buy  leather. 

While  there  was  peace  in  the  royal  home,  and  peace  in 
Prussia,  Europe  was  passing  through  troublous  times. 
Frederick  the  Great  had  foreseen  that  Frederick  William 
III.,  his  nephew’s  son,  would  need  a  strong  hand  and 
earnest  purpose.  In  their  last  talk  together,  he  said  :  — 

“  Fritz,  you  should  prepare  yourself  for  the  future 
which  is  preparing  for  you  ;  my  career  has  come  to  an  end, 
my  day’s  work  is  done.  I  am  afraid  that  when  I  am  gone 
there  will  be  great  confusion,  things  will  go  on  pele-mele. 
The  whole  world  is  in  a  ferment,  and  the  rulers,  espe¬ 
cially  those  in  France,  unfortunately  foster  the  excitiug 
elements  instead  of  appeasing  or  neutralizing  them.  .  .  . 

“Qualify  yourself  to  pass  through  trials;  prepare  to 
meet  them  firmly.  When  that  day  comes,  think  of  me ; 
watch  over  the  honor  of  our  house  ;  be  guilty  of  no  in¬ 
justice,  but,  at  the  same  time,  tolerate  none.  .  .  .  The 


32 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


supporting  foundation  is  the  people,  the  nation  in  its 
unity.  Stand  by  it  faithfully,  that  it  may  love  and  con¬ 
fide  in  you ;  through  the  people  only  can  you  be  strong, 
prosperous,  and  happy.  Do  not  forget  this  hour.” 

Since  the  treaty  of  Basle,  in  January,  1795,  Prussia  had 
remained  neutral  in  the  conflicts  between  Russia  and  Aus¬ 
tria,  England  and  France.  Frederick  William  III.  knew 
the  financial  weakness  of  Prussia,  and  though  he  had  two 
hundred  thousand  soldiers,  he  dreaded  war,  both  from  its 
barbarities  and  its  enormous  expense.  He  refused  to 
join  the  coalition  of  1798,  when  Russia  and  Great  Britain 
concluded  a  treaty  of  alliance  against  the  encroachments 
of  France. 

About  two  months  after  the  peace  of  Amiens,  in  1802, 
Prussia  made  an  alliance  with  France,  by  which  the  former 
gained  considerable  territory.  In  a  little  more  than  a  year 
after  the  peace,  Great  Britain  and  France  were  again  at 
Avar.  Napoleon  at  once  seized  HanoATer,  disbanded  its 
German  army,  levied  over  seventeen  million  francs,  occu¬ 
pied  Hamburg  and  Bremen,  and  closed  the  Elbe  and  Weser 
against  British  merchant  ships.  Hanover  begged  the  king 
of  Prussia  to  deliver  her,  but  he  still  abstained  from  war. 

The  execution  by  Napoleon  of  the  Duke  d’Enghien, 
March  21,  1804,  shocked  all  Europe.  The  courts  of 
St.  Petersburg  and  Stockholm  Avent  into  deep  mourning. 
Alexander  of  Russia  and  Frederick  wrote  letters  of  pro¬ 
test  to  Napoleon,  but  they  were  not  heeded.  The  Duke 
had  been  arrested  at  Ettenheim  in  Baden,  betAveen  the 
Black  Forest  and  the  Rhine,  and  that  country  being  under 
the  protection  of  Frederick,  he  was  personally  interested. 

When  Napoleon  was  proclaimed  emperor,  Dec.  2,  1804, 
Alexander  refused  to  recognize  the  title.  Foreseeing  that 
war  Avith  Russia  must  soon  occur,  Napoleon  made  an 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PLUS  SI  A. 


33 


agreement  with  Prussia,  by  which  the  latter  promised  to 
maintain  a  strict  neutrality,  and  not  permit  Russia  or  any 
foreign  troops  to  march  across  her  territory. 

A  coalition  was  formed  against  Napoleon  by  Sweden, 
Russia,  Austria,  and  Great  Britain.  Napoleon  at  once 
marched  his  troops  through  Anspach,  which  belonged  to 
Prussia,  thus  violating  his  treaty,  surrounded  the  Aus¬ 
trian  army  near  Ulm  on  the  Danube,  and  cut  it  to  pieces. 
The  Austrians  felt  that  crossing  a  neutral  country,  and 
falling  upon  them  almost  before  they  were  aware  of  it,  was 
one  of  the  principal  causes  of  their  defeat. 

A  strong  war  party  had  been  growing  in  Prussia. 
Frederick  was  urged  on  every  side  to  join  the  other  pow¬ 
ers.  The  queen  believed  that  the  time  had  come  to  check 
Napoleon,  and  rebuke  some  of  his  unjust  acts. 

On  Oct.  25,  1805,  Alexander  came  to  Prussia  to  see  the 
king  and  queen.  No  Russian  emperor  had  visited  Prussia 
since  t he  time  of  Peter  the  Great.  The  streets  were 
crowded  with  people  to  give  him  a  hearty  welcome.  The 
Emperor  Francis  II.  sent  his  brother,  the  Archduke  of 
Austria,  to  confer  with  the  two  sovereigns.  An  agreement 
was  finally  made  with  Russia  and  Austria,  that  Prussia 
should  send  one  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  men  into 
the  field  if  Napoleon  did  not  yield  to  the  conditions  of  the 
allies. 

Alexander  remained  for  ten  days,  and  on  the  night  of 
his  departure,  Nov.  4,  dined  with  the  royal  family  at  Pots¬ 
dam.  He  expressed  regret  that  he  had  not  seen  the  tomb 
of  Frederick  the  Great.  “  There  is  yet  time,”  said  Fred¬ 
erick,  and  gave  orders  to  have  the  church  lighted. 

At  midnight  the  emperor,  with  the  king  and  queen, 
stood  beside  the  plain  zinc  coffin.  Alexander  bowed  and 
kissed  it,  and  reaching  his  hand  across  to  Frederick, 


34 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


pledged  eternal  friendship  to  him  and  his  house,  and  an 
alliance  against  Napoleon.  Louise  consecrated  the  scene 
with  her  tears  ;  tears  that  were  remembered  by  Germany 
long  after  she  was  in  her  grave.  It  is  said  that  Louise 
planned  the  meeting  at  the  tomb,  and  with  her  woman’s 
tact  and  heart,  it  is  not  improbable.  A  knowledge  of  this 
midnight  treaty  came  to  Napoleon,  and  he  said,  “  The 
King  of  Prussia  shall  pay  for  this.” 

The  Prussian  army  was  made  ready,  and  a  letter  sent 
to  Napoleon  by  the  Prussian  minister,  Haugwitz,  who, 
reaching  Vienna,  and  finding  Russia  and  Austria  on  the 
eve  of  a  great  battle,  deferred  giving  the  letter. 

Napoleon,  on  Dec.  2,  1805,  the  first  anniversary  of  his 
coronation,  swept  all  before  him  in  the  terrible  battle  of 
Austerlitz.  The  Russians,  according  to  Alison,  in  his 
“  History  of  Europe,”  lost  thirty  thousand  in  killed  and 
wounded,  and  the  French  twelve  thousand.  It  was  re¬ 
ported  that  Alexander  was  killed,  and  the  Grand  Duke 
Constantine  b  relv  escaped  with  his  life. 

Haugwitz,  who  had  come  with  a  threat  of  war,  con¬ 
cluded  to  make  a  treaty  of  peace,  whereby  Hanover  was 
given  to  Prussia,  and  Prussia  ceded  Cleves,  Neufchatel, 
and  Anspach  to  Napoleon. 

The  Prussians  were  enraged  at  Haugwitz,  and  the  king 
at  first  refused  to  sign  the  treaty,  but  finally  did  so,  at 
the  request  of  his  ministers,  saying,  however,  that  he 
would  keep  Hanover  only  till  a  general  peace  could  be 
arranged.  He  said  to  Count  Hoym,  “  I  have  signed,  but 
I  tremble  for  the  consequences.” 

Napoleon  felt  that  Prussia  was  in  his  power.  He 
demanded  that  the  king  should  renounce  his  connection 
with  Russia,  and  make  a  closer  alliance  with  France. 

Napoleon  had  consummated  his  long-cherished  plan 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


35 


of  the  “Confederation  of  the  Rhine,”  whereby  several 
states  had  separated  themselves  from  the  German  empire, 
and  put  themselves  under  his  protection.  Sixteen  million 
men  transferred  their  allegiance  to  Napoleon  with  the 
promise  that  hostility  committed  against  one  should  be 
considered  as  a  declaration  of  war  against  the  whole. 
Francis  II.  saw  that  the  German  empire  was  destroyed, 
and  renounced  the  imperial  crown. 

England  was  angry  concerning  Hanover,  and  Napoleon 
made  her  a  private  proposal  to  restore  it  to  her  —  he  had 
just  ceded  it  to  Prussia  —  if  she  would  make  peace  with 
him.  Before  Anspach  knew  that  she  was  given  over  to 
France,  forty  thousand  Frenchmen  took  possession.  The 
heart-breaks  of  war  had  begun.  When  by  Napoleon’s 
order  the  ports  of  Hauover  were  closed  to  Great  Britain, 
the  latter  at  once  declared  war  against  Prussia,  and 
Sweden  was  ready  to  join  her.  It  was  discovered  also 
that  Napoleon  meditated  the  seizure  of  Westphalia. 

Frederick  William  III.  was  worn  and  anxious  over 
these  dire  events.  Louise  was  in  ill-health.  Her  eighth 
child,  a  son,  Frederick  Julius  Ferdinand  Leopold,  born 
Dec.  13,  1804,  had  died  April  G,  180G,  at  the  age  of  six- 
teeu  months.  Prostrated  by  a  nervous  fever,  she  was 
advised  by  her  physician  to  go  to  the  baths  of  Pyr- 
mont.  Here  she  staid  six  weeks  with  her  father  and 
brother  George,  but  she  was  anxious  to  be  at  home  and 
share  in  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  her  beloved  Germany. 
She  returned  Aug.  3  to  Charlottenburg,  where  the  king 
had  planted  some  poplars  and  beeches  in  honor  of  her 
coming.  At  Berlin  she  was  received  by  the  people  with 
the  greatest  enthusiasm. 

Frederick  had  at  last  determined  to  meet  the  demands 
of  Napoleon  by  war.  The  army  was  made  ready  for 


36 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMAXHOOD. 


marching.  The  patriotic  queen,  at  the  request  of  the 
king,  rode  beside  him  when  he  reviewed  the  troops. 
When  the  queen’s  regiment,  the  Anspach-Baireuth  dra¬ 
goons,  came  into  Berlin  before  going  to  the  field,  the 
queen  wore  above  her  riding-skirt  a  spencer  trimmed  with 
the  colors  of  the  regiment.  This  was  given  to  the  regi¬ 
ment  and  is  tenderly  preserved. 

Alexander  offered  at  once  to  put  himself  at  the  head  of 
a  large  army  to  help  Prussia.  Frederick  and  Louise  went 
to  Naumburg  to  meet  the  first  body  of  Russian  troops 
sent  by  Alexander.  The  Russians  were  charmed  with  the 
queen.  She  had  lost  something  of  her  girlish  light-hearted¬ 
ness,  but  none  of  her  enthusiasm  and  spirit.  She  was 
thirty,  still  beautiful,  brilliant,  and  thoroughly  womanly. 

The  letter  of  Frederick  to  Napoleon,  stating  his  grounds 
of  complaint,  was  hastily  read,  and  then  Napoleon  dic¬ 
tated  his  proclamation  to  his  army  :  “  Soldiers  !  the  order 
for  your  return  to  France  was  issued.  You  were  already 
within  a  few  days’  march  of  your  homes,  triumphal  fetes 
awaited  you,  and  preparations  for  your  reception  had 
commenced  in  the  capital ;  but  while  we  too  confidently 
resigned  ourselves,  feeling  too  secure,  new  plots  were 
hatching  under  the  mask  of  friendship  and  alliance.  .  .  . 
We  ought  not  to  return  except  beneath  triumphal  arches. 
What !  have  we  braved  inclement  seasons,  the  ocean,  and 
the  desert ;  have  we  subdued  Europe,  often  united  against 
us  ;  have  we  extended  our  glory  from  the  east  to  the 
west,  only  to  return  like  deserters  ?  and  are  we  to  be  told 
that  the  French  eagle  has  fled  in  dismay  before  the  Prus¬ 
sian  ?  ” 

Frederick  told  his  soldiers,  “  On  this  war  depends  not 
only  the  honor  of  the  Prussian  arms,  but  the  very  ex¬ 
istence  of  the  monarchy.” 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


37 


The  king  chose  Erfurt  for  Lis  headquarters,  and  thither 
the  troops  marched,  singing  triumphant  songs.  A  por¬ 
tion  of  the  army  was  at  Weimar.  Louise  was  with  her 
husband  inspiring  the  troops.  She  had  not  instigated  the 
war  as  Napoleon  said,  but  he  well  knew  that  the  love  felt 
by  the  German  nation  for  her  was  to  be  more  dreaded  by 
him  than  many  armies.  For  her  they  would  face  death 
on  any  battlefield. 

When  moving  with  the  army  the  king  and  queen  trav¬ 
elled  in  a  close  carriage,  followed  by  twenty  other  car¬ 
riages,  and  surrounded  by  troops  and  artillery.  One  of 
the  generals,  Ivalkreuth,  said  one  day  to  Chevalier  von 
Geutz,  a  diplomatist  from  the  court  of  Vienna,  “  You 
are  hoping  to  have  the  honor  of  being  presented  to  the 
queen.  If  you  should  have  an  opportunity  of  saying  a  few 
words  to  her  on  the  subject  [her  remaining  with  the 
troops],  pray  say  all  you  can  to  induce  her  to  remain.  I 
know  what  I  am  asking.  Her  presence  with  us  is  quite 
necessary.” 

Gentz  had  an  audience  with  the  queen  at  nine  o’clock 
on  the  morning  of  Oct.  9.  She  showed  neither  fear  nor 
irresolution.  She  said,  “  I  think  we  could  not  decide 
otherwise  than  on  war ;  our  position  had  become  so 
equivocal  that  it  was  necessary  to  get  out  of  it  at  any 
price.  It  is  much  less  on  calculation  than  on  a  sentiment 
of  honor  and  under  a  sense  of  duty  that  we  were  obliged 
to  take  this  course.  ...  I  was  fully  convinced  that  the 
great  sources  of  true  security  were  to  be  found  only  in 
the  closest  union  of  all  who  bear  the  name  of  Germans ; 
as  to  Russia’s  assistance,  I  always  regarded  it  only  as  a 
last  resource.” 

The  “  union  of  all  who  bear  the  name  of  Germans  ” 
was  always  dear  to  the  heart  of  Louise.  Her  son  Fred- 


38 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


erick  William  IV.  said,  “  The  unity  of  Germany  concerns 
me  deeply :  it  is  an  inheritance  from  my  mother.” 

Gentz  was  delighted  with  the  queen.  He  said,  “You 
could  not  find  another  such  woman  in  Germany.  The 
intellectual  and  refined  ideas  she  developed  every  moment 
during  our  three  quarters  of  an  hour’s  conversation  were 
wonderful ;  she  argued  with  independence  and  energy,  yet 
with  precision  and  self-control,  evincing  a  prudence  that 
would  have  been  admirable  in  a  man.  At  the  same  time, 
everything  she  said  was  so  full  of  deep  feeling  as  not  to 
allow  me  for  one  moment  to  forget  that  it  was  a  woman 
who  claimed  my  attention.  It  was  a  combination  of  dig¬ 
nity,  benevolence,  and  grace  such  as  I  never  met  with 
before.  Not  a  word  was  out  of  place,  not  a  sentiment, 
not  a  reflection  which  was  not  in  exquisite  harmony  with 
the  general  character  of  her  conversation.”  She  spoke 
guardedly  and  gently  of  both  Napoleon  and  Josephine. 

On  Oct.  10  the  main  army  which  had  proceeded  to 
Weimar  was  shocked  by  the  news  of  the  death  of  the 
brave  Prince  Louis  Ferdinand,  nephew  of  Frederick  the 
Great,  at  the  head  of  six  thousand  men,  surrounded  by 
thirty  thousand  of  the  enemy.  The  fight  lasted  for  five 
hours.  His  horse  got  entangled  in  a  hedge,  and  left  his 
rider  struggling  in  the  bushes.  The  prince  had  extricated 
himself,  when  his  surrender  was  demanded.  He  replied 
by  a  cut  of  his  sabre,  and  the  next  instant  fell  by  the 
sword  of  his  antagonist.  His  conquerors  took  the  body 
to  jSaalfeld  and  gave  it  military  interment  in  the  church, 
from  which  it  was  removed  in  1811  to  Berlin  cathedral. 

On  the  evening  of  Oct.  13  the  king  and  the  aged  Duke 
of  Brunswick  reached  the  heights  of  Auerstadt.  The  king 
had  made  arrangements  for  the  queen  to  remain  at  the 
ducal  castle  in  Weimar;  but  anxious  for  the  king  and  the 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


39 


army,  the  heroic  and  fearless  queen  left  that  afternoon, 
and  was  soon  travelling  with  him,  with  the  enemy  in  full 
view.  The  Duke  of  Brunswick  insisted  on  the  wisdom 
of  her  return,  and  she  was  finally  persuaded  to  go  back 
to  Berlin,  attended  by  a  guard  of  fifty  men.  A  circuitous 
route  was  marked  out  for  her,  as  many  Frenchmen  were 
in  the  country. 

The  next  day,  Oct.  14,  1806,  the  dreadful  battles  of 
Jena  and  Auerstadt  were  fought.  At  Jena,  Napoleon, 
Ney,  and  Murat  led  the  French  against  Prince  Hohenlohe  ; 
at  Auerstadt,  Davoust  led  the  French  against  the  king 
and  the  Duke  of  Brunswick.  The  king  fought  bravely 
and  with  great  coolness,  having  two  horses  killed  under 
him.  The  Duke  had  his  left  eye  struck  out  by  a  bullet, 
and  was  carried  senseless  from  the  field  in  the  early  part 
of  the  day. 

Alison  says,  “  The  astonishing  battles  of  Jena  and 
Auerstadt  in  a  single  day  prostrated  the  strength  of  the 
Prussian  monarchy,  and  did  that  in  a  few  hours  which 
all  the  might  of  Austria,  Russia,  and  France  in  the 
Seven  Years’  War  had  been  unable  to  effect.  The  sub¬ 
sequent  disasters  of  the  campaign  were  but  the  com¬ 
pletion  of  this  great  calamity ;  the  decisive  strokes  were 
given  on  the  banks  of  the  Saale.  The  loss  of  the  Prus¬ 
sians  was  prodigious  :  on  the  two  fields  there  fell  nearly 
twenty  thousand  killed  and  wounded,  besides  nearly  as 
many  prisoners;  and  two  hundred  pieces  of  cannon,  with 
twenty-five  standards,  were  taken.  Ten  thousand  of  the 
killed  and  wounded  fell  at  Auerstadt.  .  .  .  Nor  was  that 
victory  bloodless  to  the  conquerors  :  their  total  loss  was 
foiu-teen  thousand  men,  of  whom  seven  thousand  five 
hundred  belonged  to  the  corps  of  Davoust.”  When 
Napoleon  entered  Berlin,  Davoust  and  his  corps  took 


40 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


the  lead,  in  reward  for  their  bravery.  Napoleon  fol¬ 
lowed  the  retreating  Prussians  into  Weimar. 

He  took  no  rest  on  the  night  of  the  fourteenth.  He  was 
dictating  orders  to  his  various  corps  in  their  pursuit  of  the 
enemy.  Towards  evening  on  the  following  day  he  took 
possession  of  the  palace  of  the  Duke  of  Weimar. 

The  next  morning,  before  the  sun  had  risen,  an  officer 
entered  the  apartment  of  Napoleon.  “  Sire,”  said  he,  “  I 
have  a  good  report  to  give  you,  but  we  have  failed  in  our 
attempt  to  take  the  Queen  of  Prussia.” 

“  Ah  !  that  would  have  been  well  done,”  said  Napoleon, 
“  for  she  has  caused  the  war.” 

The  queen  pursued  her  sad  journey  towards  Berlin.  At 
Brandenburg  a  courier  met  her  to  tell  her  that  all  was 
lost,  and  that  she  must  flee  with  her  children.  Her  physi¬ 
cian,  Hufeland,  accompanied  her  to  the  Schwedt  on  the 
Oder,  where  the  children  had  been  sent  already.  Her 
agitation  frightened  them  as  they  had  always  seen  her  so 
happy. 

She  said  to  her  two  sons,  Frederick  and  William,  eleven 
and  nine  years  of  age:  “You  see  me  in  tears ;  I  lament 
the  destruction  of  the  army  !  .  .  .  Destiny  has  destroyed 
in  one  day  a  structure  in  the  erection  of  which  the  great 
men  of  two  centuries  have  labored.  There  is  no  Prus¬ 
sian  state,  no  Prussian  army,  no  national  glory  longer ; 
it  has  disappeared  like  that  mist  which  on  the  fields  of 
Jena  and  Auerstadt  hid  the  danger  and  terrors  of  that  ill- 
starred  battle.  .  .  . 

;t  Call  back  to  memory,  in  the  future,  when  your  mother 
and  quben  is  no  longer  living,  this  unhappy  hour ;  weep 
tears  as  you  remember  me,  as  I  now  at  this  sad  moment 
lament  the  downfall  of  my  fatherland.  But  let  not  tears 
alone  content  you ;  act,  develop  your  powers.  Perhaps 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  FIIUSSIA. 


41 


Prussia’s  tutelary  genius  will  alight  upon  you ;  then 
deliver  your  people  from  the  disgrace,  from  the  re¬ 
proach,  of  degradation  iu  which  she  languishes.  .  .  . 

“Oh,  my  sons,  do  not  allow  yourselves  to  be  swept 
along  by  the  degeneracy  of  this  age;  become  men,  and 
covet  the  glory  of  great  commanders  and  heroes.  If  you 
should  lack  in  ambition,  you  would  be  unworthy  of  the 
name  of  princes  and  grandsons  of  the  great  Frederick. 
If  with  every  exertion  you  cannot  raise  up  again  the 
prostate  state,  then  seek  death  as  Louis  Ferdinand 
sought  it.” 

They  soon  went  to  Stettin,  and  after  a  day  hurried  on  to 
Ciistrin,  where  the  king  met  her.  He  remained  for  some 
time,  examining  the  defences,  the  noble  queen  in  her  long 
travelling  cloak  walking  up  and  down  the  ramparts  with 
him.  Many  men  in  high  positions  counselled  surrender 
to  Napoleon,  but  the  queen  urged  continuance  of  the  war 
rather  than  submit  to  the  hard  terms  of  the  Emperor  of 
France.  Napoleon’s  victories  seemed  to  have  paralyzed 
the  Prussian  nation.  Ciistrin  was  given  up.  Stettin 
surrendered  without  firing  a  shot.  Lfibeck  surrendered 
after  a  heroic  defence. 

The  court  retreated  to  Marienwerder,  where  they  staid 
ten  days,  and  then  to  Qrtelsburg.  The  royal  family  suf¬ 
fered  every  privation.  They  had  but  one  scantily  fur¬ 
nished  room  in  a  wretched,  house.  They  were  ankle  deep 
in  mud  whenever  they  stepped  out  of  doors.  Provisions 
were  very  scarce.  “But,”  says  Sir  George  Jackson, 
“we  have  some  reason  to  be  satisfied  when  we  think  of 
the  privations  which  the  poor  queen  is  enduring,  whose 
dignified  resignation  under  these  distressing  circumstances 
renders  her  even  more  interesting  than  does  her  great 
beauty.” 


42 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


The  queen  felt  all  this  keenly,  for  she  quoted  in  her 
notebook,  as  expressive  of  her  heart,  this  verse  from 
(ioethe’s  “  Wilhelm  Meister  ”  :  — 

“  Who  never  ate  his  bread  in  sorrow, 

Who  never  spent  the  darksome  hours 
Weeping  and  watching  for  the  morrow  — 

He  knows  ye  not,  ye  gloomy  powers. 

To  earth  —  this  weary  earth  —  ye  bring  us, 

To  guilt  ye  let  us  heedless  go; 

Then  leave  repentance  fierce  to  wring  us, 

A  moment’s  guilt,  an  age’s  woe.” 

The  people  sympathized  deeply  with  their  king  and 
queen.  The  sect  of  Mennonites  sent  two  hundred  gold 
Fredericks  which  they  had  collected  among  their  people, 
and  begged  the  royal  family  to  accept  the  money  with 
their  love  and  respect.  They  accepted  it.  and  repaid  it 
in  better  times. 

A  farmer’s  wife  brought  some  butter  for  the  “poor, 
dear  king.”  “No,  no,”  said  the  king,  “  not  poor;  I  am 
a  rich  king,  blessed  with  such  subjects.” 

Magdeburg  soon  fell.  Marshal  Ney  heated  twenty- 
four-pound  shot  to  red  heat,  and  began  to  throw  them 
into  the  town.  The  people  begged  their  leaders  to  sur¬ 
render.  Sixteen  thousand  troops  in  arms,  four  thousand 
in  the  hospitals,  six  hundred  pieces  of  cannon,  eight  hun¬ 
dred  thousand  pounds  of  powder,  a  pontoon  train  com¬ 
plete,  and  immense  stores  of  all  kinds  fell  into  the  hands 
of  the  enemy. 

Late  in  1806  the  royal  family  went  to  Ivonigsberg.  The 
queen  was  prostrated  by  nervous  fever,  and  her  life  and 
that  of  her  child,  Prince  Charles,  were  in  great  danger. 
Before  she  had  recovered  they  were  obliged  to  flee  to 
Memel,  as  the  French  were  approaching.  She  begged  to 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


43 


be  removed,  saying  in  the  words  of  King  David,  “  Let  us 
fall  now  into  the  hand  of  the  Lord ;  for  his  mercies  are 
great :  and  let  me  not  fall  into  the  hand  of  man.” 

They  were  three  days  and  nights  on  the  journey.  The 
first  night  the  queen  lay  in  a  room  whose  windows  were 
broken,  and  the  snow  blew  on  the  bed.  But  she  was  full 
of  trust  and  courage. 

Meanwhile  Napoleon  had  entered  Berlin  in  triumph, 
amid  the  hatred  and  despair  of  the  people.  He  visited 
Sans-Souci  and  looked  upon  the  room  where  Frederick 
the  Great  died.  lie  traced  a  large  N  in  the  dust  on  Fred¬ 
erick’s  coffin,  saying,  “If  he  w'ere  alive  now,  I  should 
not  stand  here.”  He  sent  Frederick’s  sword,  hat,  and 
scarf  to  Paris;  these  were  destroyed  in  1814,  just  before 
the  Allies  entered. 

At  Charlottenburg  he  entered  the  queen’s  private  rooms 
and  read  her  letters,  in  some  of  which  she  showed  her 
aversion  to  him.  But  he  was  much  impressed  with  her 
picture,  and  wished  to  see  her. 

Early  in  1807,  the  remnant  of  the  Prussian  army  under 
Gen.  Lestocq  combined  with  the  Russian  troops  and 
fought  the  desperate  battle  of  Eylau,  Feb.  8.  The  Rus¬ 
sian  and  Prussian  loss  was  said  to  have  been  twenty-five 
thousand  in  killed  and  wounded,  and  the  French  thirty 
thousand.  Alison  says  of  this  battle,  “  Never  was  spec¬ 
tacle  so  dreadful  as  the  field  of  battle  on  the  following 
morning.  Above  fifty  thousand  men  lay  in  a  space  of  two 
leagues,  weltering  in  blood.  The  wounds  were  for  the 
most  part  of  the  severest  kind,  from  the  extraordinary 
quantity  of  cannon-balls  w  hich  had  been  discharged  dur¬ 
ing  the  action,  and  the  close  proximity  of  the  contending 
masses  to  the  deadly  batteries  which  spread  grape  at  half 
musket  shot  through  the  ranks. 


44 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


“  Though  stretched  on  the  cold  snow,  and  exposed  to 
the  severity  of  an  arctic  winter,  they  were  burning  with 
thirst,  and  piteous  cries  were  heard  on  all  sides  for  water, 
or  assistance  to  extricate  the  wounded  men  from  beneath 
the  heaps  of  slain,  or  loads  of  horses  by  which  they  were 
crushed.  Six  thousand  of  these  noble  animals  encum¬ 
bered  the  field,  or,  maddened  with  pain,  were  shrieking 
aloud  amid  the  stifled  groans  of  the  wounded.” 

Napoleon  suffered  so  severely  that  he  proposed  to  make 
a  favorable  peace  with  Frederick  if  the  latter  would  break 
with  the  Emperor  Alexander,  which  Frederick  refused  to 
do.  Napoleon  also  sent  word  to  the  queen  that  he  would 
be  happy  to  pay  his  court  to  her  at  Berlin.  This  was 
impossible  after  his  unjust  and  sarcastic  words  about  her 
in  his  bulletins.  The  Germans  never  forgave  and  never 
forgot  them. 

The  queen  still  had  hope.  She  wrote  her  father,  “Only 
by  patient  perseverance  can  we  succeed  —  sooner  or  later 
I  am  sure  we  shall  do  so.”  Brave  Gen.  Blticher  told 
Bourrieune,  whom  he  met  at  Hamburg,  “I  reckon  much 
on  the  public  spirit  of  Germany,  on  the  enthusiasm  which 
reigns  in  our  universities.  Success  in  war  is  ephemeral ; 
but  defeat  itself  contributes  to  nourish  in  a  people  the 
principles  of  honor  and  a  passion  for  national  glory.  Be 
assured  that  when  a  whole  people  are  resolved  to  emanci¬ 
pate  themselves  from  foreign  domination,  they  will  never 
fail  to  succeed.  I  foresee  that  fortune  will  not  always 
favor  your  emperor.  The  time  may  come  when  Europe 
in  a  body,  humiliated  by  his  exactions,  exhausted  by  his 
depredations,  will  rise  up  in  arms  against  him.” 

But  hope  was  soon  rvell-nigh  quenched  by  the  battle  of 
Friedland,  June  14,  1807.  The  Russians  lost  seventeen 
thousand  in  killed  and  wounded,  and  the  French  eight 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


45 


thousand.  The  queen  wrote  her  father  three  days  after 
the  battle :  — 

“  We  are  on  the  point  of  forsaking  the  kingdom. 
Consider  how  I  feel  in  so  doing,  but  I  implore  you  do  not 
misjudge  your  daughter.  Do  not  believe  that  pusilla¬ 
nimity  bows  my  heart.  There  are  two  principal  reasons 
why  I  am  lifted  above  everything.  The  first  is  the 
thought,  we  are  no  sport  of  blind  chance,  but  we  are  in 
God’s  hand,  and  his  providence  guides  us.  The  second 
is,  we  shall  go  down  with  honor.  .  .  .  To  live  and  die  in 
the  way  of  right,  and,  if  need  be,  eat  bread  and  salt,  will 
never  make  me  wholly  unhappy,  but  I  can  no  longer  hope. 
If  good  fortune  comes,  oh,  no  one  will  receive  it  more 
gratefully  than  I,  but  J  no  more  expect  it.  If  misfortune 
comes,  it  will  stun  me  for  a  time.  When  not  deserved  it 
can  never  overwhelm  me.  Only  wrong  on  our  part  would 
bring  me  to  the  grave.” 

The  defeated  Alexander,  his  people  clamoring  for 
peace,  proposed  an  armistice,  which  Napoleon  accepted. 
It  Avas  agreed  that  the  terms  of  peace  should  be  settled 
between  Napoleon,  Alexander,  and  Frederick,  at  Tilsit, 
on  the  Niemen. 

Napoleon  desired  to  have  as  much  dramatic  effect  as 
possible.  The  bridge  at  Tilsit  having  been  burned,  a 
raft  was  placed  in  the  river,  with  a  gaily  decorated  pavil¬ 
ion  upon  it.  At  one  o’clock,  the  short  but  alert  con¬ 
queror,  with  his  strong  pale  face,  aud  keen,  controlling 
glance,  surrounded  by  his  officers,  stepped  into  the  boat 
w  hich  was  to  bear  him  to  the  raft.  At  the  same  moment, 
in  sight  of  the  great  crowds  which  had  gathered,  the  tall, 
handsome  Alexander  started  with  his  suite  from  the  oppo¬ 
site  bank.  Napoleon  arrived  first,  and  opened  the  door 
for  Alexander,  whom  he  met  cordially.  They  conversed 
for  three  hours. 


46 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


The  next  day,  June  26,  1807,  the  king  of  Prussia  was 
called  to  the  conference.  Napoleon  treated  Frederick 
coldly  from  the  first,  but  he  treated  Alexander  pleas¬ 
antly.  The  three  dined  together  each  day,  but  Alexan¬ 
der  only  was  asked  to  spend  the  evening  and  talk  till 
midnight. 

It  seemed  impossible  to  gain  much  for  Prussia,  when  it 
occurred  to  Alexander  that  the  beautiful  queen  might  win 
concessions  where  he  failed  to  obtain  them.  The  king, 
with  an  aching  heart,  sent  for  her. 

When  she  received  the  message,  she  burst  into  tears 
and  exclaimed  :  “  This  is  the  most  painful  sacrifice  that 
I  can  make  for  my  people.” 

She  wrote  in  her  diary:  “  God  knows  what  a  struggle 
it  cost  me!  For  although  I  do  not  hate  the  man,  yet  I 
look  upon  him  as  the  author  of  the  unhappiness  of  the 
king  and  his  people.  I  admire  his  talents.  I  do  not  like 
his  character,  which  is  obviously  treacherous  and  false.  It 
will  be  hard  for  me  to  be  polite  and  courteous  to  him ; 
still  the  effort  is  demanded,  and  I  must  make  the  sacri¬ 
fice.’-’ 

Napoleon  sent  an  escort  of  French  dragoons  and  his 
state  carriage  drawn  by  eight  horses  for  Louise.  She 
reached  Tilsit  July  6,  and  Napoleon  at  once  called  upon 
her,  Talleyrand  accompanying  tpm.  She  was  dressed  in 
white  crape,  richly  embroidered  in  silk.  The  conversa¬ 
tion  lasted  for  half  or  three  quarters  of  an  hour.  Napo¬ 
leon  said,  with  his  usual  abruptness,  “  How  could  you 
ever  begin  war  with  me  ?  ” 

“  Sire,”  replied  Louise,  “  even  if  we  have  been  imposed 
upon  in  other  respects,  could  the  glory  of  Frederick 
deceive  us  in  regard  to  our  powers?”  She  begged  that 
some  of  the  fortresses  be  spared  to  Prussia,  especially 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


47 


Magdeburg.  “  You  ask  a  great  deal,”  said  the  emperor, 
“  but  I  will  think  about  it.” 

Later  Napoleon  remarked  to  Talleyrand,  “  I  knew  that 
I  should  see  a  beautiful  woman,  and  a  queen  with  digni¬ 
fied  manners,  but  I  found  the  most  admirable  queen,  and 
at  the  same  time  the  most  interesting  woman  I  had  ever 
met  with.” 

Talleyrand  thought  he  might  yield  to  her  infiuence,  and 
responded,  “  Sire,  shall  posterity  say  that  you  have  not 
profited  by  your  great  conquests  because  of  a  beautiful 
woman  ?  ” 

At  the  sumptuous  banquet  to  which  Napoleon  invited 
her,  she  sat  at  his  right  hand,  and  the  king  on  his  left. 
The  emperor  talked  freely,  but  the  king  was  silent.  The 
queen  was  quick-witted  in  her  answers  to  Napoleon,  bril¬ 
liant,  and  with  great  tact,  yet  with  one  purpose  ever  in 
mind,  —  better  terms  for  fallen  Prussia. 

Napoleon  offered  her  a  rare  and  beautiful  rose.  She 
hesitated  about  taking  it,  but  did  so,  saying,  with  her 
sweet  smile,  “  At  least  with  Magdeburg  !  ” 

Napoleon  replied,  “  I  must  observe  to  your  Majesty 
that  it  is  I  who  present,  and  you  who  are  about  to  re¬ 
ceive  it.” 

Again,  though  much  against  her  will,  she  dined  with  the 
emperor,  after  she  had  heard  that  he  would  yield  nothing. 
“The  conversation,”  writes  the  lady-in-waiting,  “was 
constrained  and  monosyllabic.  After  dinner  the  queen 
talked  once  more  with  Napoleon ;  on  going  away  she 
told  him  that  she  was  about  to  depart,  and  felt  deeply 
that  she  had  been  deceived.” 

Louise  said  herself,  a  year  later,  “  What  I  suffered  then 
I  suffered  more  on  account  of  others  than  on  my  own 
account.  I  wept ;  I  implored  in  the  name  of  love  and  of 


48 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


humanity,  in  the  name  of  our  misfortunes,  and  of  the 
laws  which  govern  the  world.” 

Count  de  Las  Cases,  in  his  “  Memoirs  of  the  Life,  Exile, 
and  Conversations  of  the  Emperor”  at  St.  Helena,  gives 
these  words  of  Napoleon  in  those  lonely  days  of  remem¬ 
brance  :  “  The  queen  of  Prussia  was  unquestionably  gifted 
with  many  happy  resources.  She  possessed  a  great  deal 
of  information,  and  had  many  excellent  capabilities.  It 
was  she  who  really  reigned  for  more  than  fifteen  years. 
She  also,  in  spite  of  my  dexterity  and  all  my  exertions, 
took  the  lead  in  the  conversation  and  constantly  main¬ 
tained  the  ascendancy.  She  touched,  perhaps  too  often, 
upon  her  favorite  topic,  but  she  did  so,  however,  with 
great  plausibility  and  without  giving  the  slightest  cause 
of  uneasiness.  It  must  be  confessed  that  she  had  an 
important  object  in  view  and  that  the  time  was  short  and 
precious.  .  .  . 

“I  was  determined  not  to  yield.  I  found  it  necessary 
to  keep  a  great  command  over  myself,  that  I  might 
continue  exempt  from  all  kind  of  engagement  and  every 
expression  which  might  be  taken  in  a  doubtful  sense.” 

By  the  treaty  of  Tilsit  (signed  July  7),  the  king  of 
Prussia  was  obliged  to  give  up  half  his  dominions,  to 
reduce  his  army  to  forty-two  thousand  men,  and  to  pay 
a  war  indemnification  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  million 
thalers. 

How  little  Napoleon  dreamed  that  this  would  be  paid 
back  with  interest  in  the  war  of  1870  !  The  queen  wrote 
her  father,  “  I  am  convinced  that  the  way  in  which  this 
peace  has  been  concluded  will,  at  a  future  period,  sooner 
or  later,  bring  down  a  blessing  on  Prussia,  although  I 
may  not  live  to  see  it.” 

The  state  was  near  bankruptcy,  and  the  king  was 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


49 


advised  to  declare  it,  but  he  said,  “  I  may  be  unfortunate, 
but  God  will  preserve  me  from  committing  a  base  act.” 

The  sovereigns  and  the  people  bent  their  energies  to 
paying  the  war  debt.  The  gold  dinner  service  of  Freder¬ 
ick  the  Great  was  sent  to  the  mint  to  be  coined  into 
money.  The  queen  parted  with  all  her  jewels  save  one 
ornament  of  pearls,  which  she  said  “betokens  tears,  and 
I  have  shed  so  many.” 

The  royal  table  at  Memel  was  furnished  like  that  of  an 
ordinary  citizen.  A  Russian  diplomatist  who  spent  a 
night  at  the  king’s  house  said,  “  Not  a  thousand  court 
feasts,  with  golden  uniforms  and  stars,  would  I  give  in 
exchange  for  the  memory  of  that  night.  A  queen  sits  at 
a  poorly  furnished  table,  that,  like  herself,  is  divested  of 
all  external  adornments ;  but  her  grace,  beauty,  and  dig¬ 
nity  shine  all  the  brighter. 

“  By  her  side  sits  the  eldest  princess,  Charlotte,  as  the 
bud  by  the  unfolded  rose.  She  shared  with  her  mother 
the  little  household  duties.  Both  delighted  by  their  ami¬ 
able  attentions,  and  left  behind  in  my  soul  a  living  pic¬ 
ture  which  no  after  event  can  efface.” 

The  queen  walked  every  morning  and  evening  with  the 
king  to  cheer  him.  The  Countess  Voss,  the  lady  in  attend¬ 
ance,  said  the  king  was  so  sad,  “  it  touched  one’s  heart 
to  the  quick,  and  one  could  not  listen  to  him  without  hot 
tears.” 

After  the  peace  of  Tilsit,  Baron  von  Stein,  who  had 
differed  from  the  king  some  months  previously,  was  re¬ 
called,  to  the  great  delight  of  Louise.  She  wrote,  “  How 
happy  I  am  that  Stein  is  again  here  ;  yes,  I  feel,  since  I 
know  that  he  is  at  the  head  of  affairs,  as  if  I  could  raise 
higher  and  carry  more  easily  my  head,  burdened  with  a 
weight  of  care.” 


50 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


“  I  implore  you,”  she  wrote  to  Stein,  soon  after  his 
coming,  “  have  patience  during  the  first  months  ;  the  king 
will  certainly  keep  his  word.  ...  I  pray  God  that  the 
good  may  not  come  to  nought  on  account  of  the  patience 
and  delay  of  three  months.  I  implore  you  for  the  sake  of 
myself,  my  children,  my  country,  the  king,  have  patience.” 

In  all  the  great  projects  for  the  reform  of  Prussia  in 
education,  in  the  army,  in  the  emancipation  of  the  peas¬ 
ants,  Louise  was  Stein’s  helper  and  friend.  She  greatly 
influenced  her  husband,-  who  was  naturally  more  conserv¬ 
ative  than  she. 

She  aided  every  good  work.  On  her  birthday  in  1807 
the  Luisenstift,  or  Louise’s  Association,  was  organized  for 
orphans,  most  of  them  the  children  of  soldiers.  She  gave 
both  money  and  time  to  it.  She  still  made  charming  lit¬ 
tle  fetes  for  her  own  children,  who  loved  to  make  wreaths 
of  blue  corn-flowers  for  her. 

The  cold  air  of  Memel  was  affecting  her  health,  and 
the  royal  family  removed  to  Konigsberg  early  in  1808. 
On  the  fifst  of  February,  of  this  year,  the  queen’s  ninth 
child  was  born  —  a  daughter  —  to  whom  was  given  the 
endeared  name  of  Louise. 

“  You  will  be  pleased  to  hear,  dear  father,”  she  wrote 
a  little  later,  “  that  the  misfortune  which  has  fallen  upon 
us  has  not  affected  our  domestic  happiness ;  indeed,  it 
seems  to  have  drawn  us  nearer  together,  and  strengthened 
our  affections.  The  king,  who  is  the  best  of  men,  is 
kinder  than  ever.  Often  I  fancy  that  I  see  in  him  the 
lover  and  the  bridegroom  ;  more  in  actions  than  in  words 
do  I  perceive  his  constant  devotion  to  me. 

“  Only  yesterday  he  said  to  me,  looking  at  me  with  his 
guileless  eyes  and  earnest  expression  of  countenance, 
‘  Dear  Louise,  thou  hast  become  dearer  and  more  precious 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


51 


than  ever  to  me  in  misfortune.  Now  I  know  by  experi¬ 
ence  what  I  possess  in  thee.  Let  the  storm  continue 
without,  as  it  will;  if  only  our  happiness  remain  undis¬ 
turbed,  we  are  secure.  Because  I  love  thee  so  fondly,  I 
have  desired  our  youngest-born  daughter  to  be  called 
Louise.  May  she  become  a  Louise  !  ’ 

“  This  tenderness  on  his  part  affected  me  to  tears.  It 
is  my  pride,  my  joy,  and  my  happiness  to  possess  the  love 
of  the  best  of  men,  and  because  I  love  him  in  return  with 
all  my  heart,  and  we  are  so  united  that  the  will  of  one  is 
the  will  of  the  other,  it  is  very  easy  for  us  to  preserve 
this  harmony  day  by  day.  In  a  word,  he  pleases  me  in 
all  points,  and  I  please  him,  and  we  are  happiest  when  we 
are  together.  .  .  . 

“  Our  children  are  our  treasures,  and  our  eyes  rest  upon 
them  with  satisfaction  and  hope.  The  crown  prince  is  full 
of  life  and  spirit.  He  has  superior  talents,  which  are 
happily  developed  and  cultivated.  .  .  .  He  is  particularly 
attached  to  his  mother,  and  could  not  be  purer-minded 
than  he  is.  I  love  him  most  tenderly,  and  often  speak  to 
him  of  the  duties  which  will  devolve  upon  him  if  he  lives 
to  become  king. 

“  Our  sou  William  will,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  take  after 
his  father,  and  be  simple,  upright,  and  wise.  Also  in  out¬ 
ward  appearance  he  bears  the  greatest  resemblance  to  him, 
only  he  is,  I  think,  not  so  good  looking.  You  see,  dear 
father,  I  am  still  in  love  with  my  husband.” 

After  describing  her  other  children  to  her  father,  she 
adds,  “  It  may  be  well  for  our  children  that  already  in 
their  youth  they  have  learned  to  know  the  serious  side  of 
life.  If  they  had  grown  up  in  the  lap  of  plenty  and  ease 
then  they  would  suppose  everything  must  ever  be  thus. 
But  they  see  by  the  grave  countenance  of  their  father, 


52 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


and  the  grief  and  frequent  tears  of  their  mother,  that 
things  can  change.” 

The  baby  Louise,  when  grown  to  womanhood,  married 
Frederic,  the  second  son  of  William  I.,  King  of  the 
Netherlands,  and  died  in  1870.  During  the  year  1808 
the  queen  spent  much  time  in  reading  history.  “  I  read 
history  diligently,”  she  said,  “and  live  in  the  past  be¬ 
cause  there  is  no  more  future  for  me.” 

In  the  winter  of  this  year,  1808,  the  king  and  queen 
visited  St.  Petersburg  at  the  request  of  Alexander. 
Twelve  elegant  rooms  were  made  ready  for  the  queen, 
one  with  hangings  of  pink  silk  and  a  toilette  of  gold. 
Six  superb  Turkish  shawls  were  presented  to  her,  besides 
a  sumptuous  table  service  of  crystal,  vases,  silks,  and 
other  costly  things.  She  visited  the  benevolent  institu¬ 
tions  with  great  interest.  On  her  return  she  said,  “  I 
have  returned  as  I  went.  Nothing  dazzles  me  any  more. 
My  kingdom  is  not  of  this  world.” 

During  the  spring  and  summer  of  1809,  the  queen  was 
ill  much  of  the  time.  France  and  Austria  were  at  war, 
and  Louise  feared  that  Prussia  would  be  drawn  into  the 
conflict.  After  the  battle  of  Wagram,  July  5,  G,  1809, 
she  wrote  her  father:  “With  us  it  is  all  over  for  the 
present,  even  if  not  forever.  I  look  for  nothing  more 
during  my  life.  ...  It  becomes  more  and  more  clear  to 
me  that  everything  had  to  come  as  it  lias.  Divine  Provi¬ 
dence  is  unmistakably  introducing  a  new  order  of  things 
in  the  world  ;  there  will  be  a  different  arrangement,  since 
the  old  order  has  outlived  itself  and  is  falling  to  pieces. 
We  have  fallen  asleep  on  the  laurels  of  Frederick  the  Great , 
who,  as  the  master  of  his  century,  created  a  new  epoch. 
We  have  not  kept  pace  with  the  age,  therefore  it  has  left 
us  behind.  No  one  is  better  aware  of  this  than  the  king. 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


53 


I  have  just  had  a  conversation  with  him,  in  which  he  re¬ 
peatedly  said,  as  if  speaking  to  himself,  ‘  This  also  must 
be  changed  among  us.’  .  .  .  Better  times  will  certainly 
come.  Faith  in  the  most  perfect  Being  is  a  guaranty  for 
this.  But  only  through  goodness  can  the  world  become  bet¬ 
ter.  Therefore,  I  do  not  believe  that  the  Emperor  Napoleon 
Bonaparte  is  firm  and  safe  on  his  glittering  throne.  Only 
truth  and  justice  are  strong  and  secure.  .  .  .  He  has  no 
moderation,  and  he  who  cannot  observe  moderation  loses 
his  balance  and  falls.  .  .  .  What  has  taken  place  is  un¬ 
mistakably  neither  final  nor  abiding,  nor  for  the  best  good 
of  all,  but  only  the  opening  of  a  path  to  a  better  end.  This 
end  appears  to  be  at  a  great  distance ;  we  probably  shall 
not  see  it,  and  shall  die  before  it  is  reached.  As  God 
wills  ;  all  as  He  wills.” 

The  French  troops  had  left  Berlin,  and  the  royal  family 
were  to  return  Dec.  23.  The  queen  had  longed  for  the 
day.  She  said,  “  A  homesickness  that  I  cannot  describe 
draws  me  thither  [to  Berlin]  and  to  my  Charlottenburg  !  ” 

On  the  anniversary  of  the  day  and  hour  on  which 
Louise  entered  Berlin  as  a  bride  sixteen  years  before,  she 
entered  it  again  Dec.  23,  1809.  She  rode  in  a  handsome 
carriage  lined  with  lilac,  her  favorite  color,  the  gift  of  the 
citizens.  By  her  side  were  her  two  daughters  and  her 
son,  Prince  Charles.  The  king  was  on  horseback  with 
his  generals,  while  Frederick  and  William,  the  two  sons, 
were  on  foot  as  officers  of  guards  in  the  queen’s  regiment. 
The  citizens  seemed  wild  with  joy.  The  royal  family 
went  first  to  the  cathedral  to  attend  a  national  thanks¬ 
giving  service,  and  then  to  the  royal  box  at  the  opera 
house  to  please  the  people. 

Fouque  said,  “The  queen  sat  beside  her  lnlsband.  As 
she  conversed  she  often  raised  her  eyes  to  the  king 


54 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


with  a  very  touching  expression ;  had  she,  perhaps, 
already  the  presentiment  that  she  would  not  long  be  the 
comforter,  the  consoling  guide  of  the  severely-tried  mon¬ 
arch?  I  do  not  know  ;  but  when  she  bowed  to  the  public, 
before  leaving  the  house,  as  was  at  that  time  the  custom, 
I  could  not  help  being  struck  by  her  expression,  and  I 
said  to  my  friends  as  we  were  returning  home,  I  had 
thought  that  Prussia  could  now  give  up  all  thoughts  of 
war,  and  settle  down  to  peaceful  pursuits,  as  Frederick 
had  done  after  the  battle  of  Molwitz,  which  he  lost;  but 
now  I  feel  quite  differently. 

“  Our  beloved  queen  has  thanked  us  with  tears.  Bona¬ 
parte  has  dimmed  those  heavenly  eyes,  and  I  wish  Prus¬ 
sia  could  gain  a  victory  to  brighten  them.  That  may  not 
be  granted  to  us,  but  at  all  events  we  must  do  everything 
that  can  be  done  to  make  those  eyes  sparkle  again.” 

Borowsky,  the  court  preacher,  said,  “Our  dear  queen 
is  far  from  joyful,  but  her  seriousness  has  a  quiet  serenity, 
and  the  calmness  and  repose,  which  God  gives  her,  sheds 
over  her  entire  life  a  noble  grace.  Her  eyes,  it  is  true, 
have  lost  their  former  sparkle,  and  one  sees  that  they  have 
wept  much,  and  still  weep  ;  but  by  this  they  have  received 
an  expression  of  gentle  sorrow  and  quiet  longing  which 
is  even  more  charming  than  that  which  mere  enjoyment  of 
life  would  give.  The  bloom  on  her  countenance  is  indeed 
gone  and  a  soft  pallor  overspreads  it,  yet  her  face  is  still 
beautiful,  and  now  the  white  roses  on  her  cheeks  please 
me  almost  more  than  the  red  of  other  days.  At  times 
is  seen  a  slight  trembling  of  the  mouth,  around  which 
formerly  a  sweet,  happy  smile  hovered.  Sorrow  is  implied 
by  this,  but  it  is  not  bitter.  Her  dress  is  ever  exceed¬ 
ingly  simple,  and  the  choice  of  colors  indicates  her  frame 
of  mind.” 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


55 


The  king,  as  was  his  usual  custom,  thought  how  he 
might  benefit,  the  poor.  He  gave  five  thousand  dollars  to 
them,  remitted  all  punishments  for  light  offences,  and  set 
at  liberty  all  whose  terms  of  imprisonment  were  less  than 
a  year. 

To  commemorate  this  return  to  Berlin,  the  people 
placed  on  an  island  in  the  Thiergartcn  a  beautiful  vase, 
by  the  sculptor  Schadow,  which  each  year  is  filled  with 
fiowers  on  Louise’s  birthday,  the  10th  of  March. 

The  queen’s  tenth  and  last  child,  Prince  Albert,  had 
been  born  two  months  previously,  Oct.  4,  1809.  She  was 
in  failing  health  with  lung  trouble.  On  her  last  birth¬ 
day,  March  10,  1810,  when  she  was  thirty-four,  she  said, 
“  I  think  this  will  be  the  last  birthday  1  shall  ever  cele¬ 
brate.” 

The  country  Mas  unable  to  meet  the  money  demands  of 
Napoleon.  The  latter  said,  “  if  the  king  cannot  pay, 
nothing  remains  to  be  done  but  to  surrender  Silesia.” 
The  queen  wrote  Napoleon,  begging  for  a  modification  in 
the  interests  of  Prussia,  but  it  availed  nothing.  Napo¬ 
leon's  descendants  were  to  learn  later  on  that  magna¬ 
nimity  to  a  fallen  foe  would  have  been  the  part  of  wisdom, 
at  least. 

On  May  20,  Louise  wished  to  go  to  Paretz.  She 
twined  a  wreath  of  oak  leaves  and  flowers,  still  pre¬ 
served,  and  was  so  loath  to  depart  that  she  staid  until  the 
moon  came  up,  and  then  walked  arm-in-arm  down  the 
long  avenue  with  her  husband,  and  passed  out  of  the  gate 
near  the  summer-house.  Not  long  after,  the  king  locked 
the  gate  out  of  which  she  went  for  the  last  time,  and  it 
has  never  been  reopened.  In  the  grotto  where  she  used 
to  sit  and  teach  her  children  is  an  iron  table,  with  letters 
in  gold  :  “  Remember  the  absent.” 


56 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


On  June  25,  Louise  started  for  Gharlottenburg,  to  make 
a  long  desired  visit  to  her  father.  On  her  arrival  only 
one  day  was  given  to  a  public  reception.  On  that  even¬ 
ing  she  showed  some  of  the  ladies  a  locket  which  she 
wore  containing  her  husband’s  picture,  saying  that  it  was 
her  most  precious  treasure.  On  the  following  day  the 
king  arrived.  Being  in  a  room  with  her  brother  George, 
and  in  front  of  her  father’s  writing-desk,  she  sat  down 
and  wrote  the  last  words  she  was  ever  to  put  upon  paper : 

My  dear  father,  —  I  am  to-day  very  happy  as  your  daughter, 
and  as  the  wife  of  the  best  of  men.  Louise. 

New  Strelitz,  28  June,  1810.” 

These  words  were  always  carefully  treasured  by  Em¬ 
peror  William,  her  sou. 

Louise  went  soon  after  with  the  family  into  the  country 
to  the  castle  of  Hohenzieritz.  The  king  was  obliged  to 
return  to  Berlin,  but  he  wrote  her  affectionately.  One 
day  when  a  letter  came  she  said,  putting  it  next  her  heart, 
“Oh,  what  a  letter!  Hew  happy  the  one  who  receives 
such  a  letter  !  ” 

Louise  soon  became  ill,  and  was  tenderly  watched  by 
her  sister.  “Oh,”  she  moaned,  “if  only  their  anxiety 
for, me  were  not  so  great !  It  will  make  them  ill.” 

On  Monday,  July  1G,  she  was  attacked  with  spasms, 
which  lasted  five  hours.  The  king  had  been  sent  for. 
“Will  he  come  soon?  How  late  is  it?”  she  asked  re¬ 
peatedly.  “  Think  of  my  dying  and  leaving  the  king  and 
the  children  !  ”  she  said  to  her  physician.  At  four  o’clock 
on  the  morning  of  July  19  the  king  arrived  with  the  two 
elder  sons.  With  eyes  full  of  affection  she  looked  on  the 
two  boys,  saying,  “  My  Fritz  !  my  William  1  ” 

When  the  king  was  told  that  she  could  not  recover  he 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PRUSSIA. 


57 


said,  sadly,  “Oh,  if  she  were  not  mine,  she  would  live; 
but  since  she  is  my  wife,  she  will  surely  die  !  ” 

He  left  the  room  to  gain  control  over  his  feelings. 
“  Tell  him,”  said  the  queen,  “  not  to  be  so  agitated,  or  I 
shall  die  instantly.”  The  king  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed 
and  tried  to  warm  the  cold  hands  of  the  queen.  At  ten 
minutes  before  nine  o’clock,  in  the  forenoon,  Louise  looked 
upon  them  all  with  her  clear,  open  gaze,  and  then  towards 
heaven,  saying  :  “I  am  dying  !  O  Jesus,  make  it  easy  !  ” 
She  drew  a  long  breath,  and  life  was  finished. 

All  Germany  seemed  in  tears.  Bliicher  said,  “Our 
saint  is  in  heaven.”  When  four  years  later  he  led  his 
victorious  army  to  the  heights  of  Montmartre,  when  the 
Allies  entered  Paris,  he  said,  remembering  those  agonizing 
days,  “ Louise  is  avenged!” 

The  precious  body  of  the  queen  was  carried  to  Berlin, 
and  lay  in  state  until  July  30.  Six  months  later,  on  Dec. 
23,  the  anniversary  of  her  wedding  day,  the  mausoleum 
at  Charlottenburg  having  been  made  ready,  she  was  car¬ 
ried  thither. 

The  exterior  of  the  temple  is  of  red  granite,  four  Doric 
columns  supporting  the  entablature.  The  building  is 
sheltered  by  trees — appropriate,  since,  with  their  shade 
and  graceful  motion,  they  seemed  to  her  as  friends. 
The  exquisite  recumbent  statue  of  Louise  in  its  soft  blue 
light,  from  the  Hue  glass  above,  as  though  the  sky  were 
reflected  upon  it,  is  by  Rauch,  who  worked  on  it  two  years 
as  a  labor  of  love,  for  the  queen  had  befriended  him.  lie 
had  been  a  footman  in  the  royal  household.  Seeing  his 
love  for  art  Louise  furnished  the  means  for  his  study  at 
Rome.  Frederick  thought  of  asking  Canova  to  make  the 
statue,  but  Rauch  was  so  disappointed  that  the  work  was 
given  to  him ;  he  died  in  1857,  honored  by  his  nation. 


58 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


The  king  founded  several  institutions  and  orders  in 
memory  of  his  beloved  Louise.  The  Order  of  the  Iron 
Cross  was  instituted  on  her  birthday,  1814. 

Napoleon,  when  he  heard  of  the  death  of  Louise,  said, 
“  The  king  has  lost  his  best  minister.”  He  too  was  com¬ 
ing  into  sorrow.  France  and  Russia  were  again  at  war. 

The  terrible  march  from  the  burning  Moscow  had  been 
made,  the  battle  of  Leipsic  fought,  and  Alexander  and 
Frederick,  —  the  crown  prince  and  William  riding  behind 
him,  —  with  their  army,  entered  Paris,  March  31,  1814. 
Napoleon  abdicated  at  Fontainebleau,  April  5,  and  soon 
after  retired  to  Elba.  When,  Aug.  7,  the  troops  returned 
to  Berlin  victorious,  Charlotte  now  sixteen,  in  the  place 
of  her  beloved  mother,  greeted  them  with  much  feeling 
and  dignity.  The  king  said,  “  If  this  high  honor  be  given 
to  those  to  whom  it  is  due,  to  Gen.  Bliicher  and  the  Prus¬ 
sian  army,  I  will  enter  with  them  as  the  sovereign  head 
of  a  grateful  people.” 

After  Napoleon’s  escape  from  Elba,  and  his  crushing 
defeat  at  Waterloo,  June  18,  where  Bliicher  had  one  hun¬ 
dred  and  sixteen  thousand  Prussian  soldiers,  he  was  sent 
to  St.  Helena,  where  he  lived  in  isolation  for  six  lonely 
years,  dying  May  5,  1821.  What  a  contrast  to  Tilsit, 
when  Louise  was  the  beautiful  suppliant  and  he  had  it  in 
his  power  to  be  generous  ! 

Fourteen  years  after  the  death  of  Louise,  Frederick 
married  the  Countess  von  Harrach,  a  lovely  woman, 
though  as  she  was  not  of  royal  blood  she  could  not 
become  queen.  He  said  to  Bishop  Eylert:  “My  last 
daughter,  my  darling  Louise,  so  like  her  mother,  is  leaving 
me ;  I  would  not  have  it  otherwise.  ...  I  cannot  be  so 
selfish  as  to  wish  to  keep  her  with  me  through  the  re¬ 
mainder  of  my  life,  but  what  should  I  do  without  her? 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PliUSSIA. 

v  « 


5!  I 


Womanly  companionship  and  sympathy  have  become 
necessary  to  me,  therefore  I  must  marry  again.” 

He  died  sixteen  years  later,  June  7,  1840,  having 
reigned  forty-three  years.  Under  the  decoration  of  the 
Black  Eagle  which  he  always  wore  was  found  the  face  of 
Louise. 

Frederick  William  IV.,  his  son,  reigned  twenty-one 
years,  and  died  Jan.  2,  18G1,  without  children.  lie 
directed  by  will  that  his  body  should  be  opened,  and  his 
heart  taken  out,  and  buried  in  a  granite  heart  of  propor¬ 
tionate  size,  at  the  feet  of  his  mother  at  Charlottenburg. 

King  William  came  to  the  throne  on  the  death  of  his 
brother.  Early  in  1870  trouble  arose  with  France  be¬ 
cause  Spain  wished  to  make  Prince  Leopold  of  Ilohen- 
zollern  her  king.  France  wished  King  William  to  inter¬ 
fere  to  prevent  it,  which  he  declined  to  do. 

A  declaration  of  war  was  delivered  at  Berlin,  July  19, 
1870.  King  William  said,  “  God  knows  I  am  not  re¬ 
sponsible  for  this  war ;  the  demands  were  such  that  I 
could  do  no  other  than  reject  them.” 

Sixty  years  before,  on  July  19,  he  had  knelt  beside  his 
mother’s  death-bed.  Before  going  to  war  he  went  to 
Charlottenburg,  and  stood  with  uncovered  head  beside  her 
tomb. 

The  Prussian  army  numbered  a  half  million  well-drilled 
men,  with  a  half  million  more  ready  for  service.  Moltke 
knew  France  almost  as  well  as  he  knew  Germany,  and 
Bismarck  was  a  born  leader  by  the  side  of  his  brave  king. 

Battle  after  battle  was  gained  by  the  Prussians,  cul¬ 
minating  in  the  surrender  of  Napoleon  III.,  at  Sedan, 
Sept.  2,  1870,  with  from  eighty  to  ninety  thousand  French 
soldiers.  He  was  sent  a  royal  prisoner  to  Wilhelmshohe. 
Metz  surrendered  Oct.  27,  with  one  hundred  and  seventy- 


60 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


three  thousand  Frenchman.  A  little  more  than  a  month 
later,  Jan.  18,  1871,  King  William,  in  the  palace  of  Louis 
XIV.,  at  Versailles,  was  crowned  Emperor  William  I.  of 
Germany.  His  ancestor,  Frederick  the  Great,  on  that  day 
one  hundred  and  eighty  years  before,  had  been  crowned 
king  of  Prussia. 

The  terms  of  peace,  concluded  between  Bismarck,  Jules 
Favre,  and  Thiers,  included  the  ceding  of  nearly  the  whole 
of  Alsace  and  Lorraine  with  other  territory,  about  six 
thousand  square  miles  in  all,  to  Germany,  and  a  war  in¬ 
demnity  of  one  thousand  million  dollars. 

As  soon  as  the  emperor  returned  to  Berlin,  he  went  aloue 
to  the  mausoleum  at  Charlottenburg.  He  was  not  insensi¬ 
ble  to  the  horrors  of  war.  He  knew  howr  the  heart  of  the 
Empress  Eugenie  w  ould  bleed  and  break  like  his  mother’s. 
He  knew  howr  the  ceded  countries  would  mourn,  and  how 
France  would  struggle  under  her  pecuniary  burdens  ;  but 
out  of  all  the  sorrow  had  come  that  for  winch  Louise 
louged  and  labored, — German  unity. 

He  worshipped  the  memory  of  his  mother.  When  he 
was  eighty,  and  her  statue  was  unveiled  in  the  Thiergarten 
at  Berlin,  he  said,  “  In  my  childhood  and  in  my  j'outh  I 
could  not  understand  what  she  foreboded,  aud  yet  God  in 
his  grace  chose  me  to  carry  to  completion  what  she  fore¬ 
saw,  when  I  myself  had  scarcely  a  premonition  of  what 
was  to  happen.  It  is  clear  to  me  that  God  selects  his 
instruments  to  do  his  will.  And  this  inspires  me  with  the 
deepest  humility  and  the  deepest  thankfulness.” 

August  Kluckhorn,  in  his  memorial  of  Louise,  translated 
by  Elizabeth  H.  Denio,  of  Wellesley  College,  gives  these 
touching  words  of  the  gifted  queen  :  “  Even  if  posterity 
does  not  mention  my  name  among  illustrious  women,  yet, 
when  it  learns  the  sorrow's  of  the  time,  it  will  know  what 


QUEEN  LOUISE  OF  PH  US  SI  A. 


61 


I  have  suffered  through  them,  and  will  say  :  She  endured 
much,  she  remained  patient  in  the  midst  of  suffering. 
Then  I  could  wish  that  at  the  same  time  they  might  say  : 
She  gave  birth  to  children  who  were  worthy  of  better 
times ;  she  endeavored  to  lead  them  on,  and  at  last  her 
care  has  borne  rich  fruit.” 

The  wish  has  been  fulfilled.  Her  care  has  indeed 
“  borne  rich  fruit.”  Gracious  and  beautiful,  kind  to  the 
lowest  and  the  highest,  the  cultivated  friend  of  poets  and 
statesmen,  a  devoted  wife  and  mother,  brave  and  able  to 
lead,  yet  gentle  and  lovable,  she  was,  and  is,  the  inspira¬ 
tion  of  a  great  nation. 


MADAME  RECAMIER,  THE  BEAUTIFUL. 


“  f  I  be  beloved  was  the  history  of  Madame  Recamier. 

-L  Beloved  by  all  in  her  youth  for  her  astonishing 
beauty ;  beloved  for  her  gentleness,  her  inexhaustible  kind¬ 
ness,  for  the  charm  of  a  character  which  was  reflected  in 
her  sweet  face ;  beloved  for  the  tender  and  sympathizing 
friendship  which  she  awarded  with  an  exquisite  tact  and 
discrimination  of  heart ;  beloved  by  old  and  young,  small 
and  great,  by  women,  —  even  women,  so  fastidious  where 
other  women  are  concerned ;  beloved  always  and  by  all 
from  her  cradle  to  the  grave,  —  such  was  the  lot,  such 
will  be  the  renown,  of  this  charming  woman  !  What  other 
glory  is  so  enviable  ?  ” 

Thus  wrote  Madame  de  Hautefeuille  in  her  lament  over 
this  celebrated  woman. 

What  gave  Madame  Recamier  her  extraordinary  power, 
her  charm  over  all  with  whom  she  came  in  contact?  What 
has  made  her  memory  fragrant  for  half  a  century  ? 

The  cry  of  every  heart  is  to  be  loved ;  to  her,  love 
was  given  in  the  fullest  measure.  Every  person  desires 
to  have  influence ;  she  swayed,  as  by  magic,  each  of  her 
acquaintances.  Beauty  counts  for  much,  but  she  received 
the  same  worship  when  she  was  old  and  blind,  and  from 
those  scarcely  half  her  age.  The  richest  in  the  realm 
asked  her  hand  in  marriage  ;  the  poorest  gave  her  homage. 


MADAME  bAcAMIEB. 


63 

Literary  men  sought  her  counsel,  and  she  inspired  them 
to  their  best  efforts.  She  had  learned,  what  comparatively 
few  ever  learn  in  this  world,  the  secret  of  power,  the  way 
to  win  and  to  hold  hearts. 

Jeanne  Francoise  Julie  Adelaide  Bernard  was  born  at 
Lyons,  Dec.  4,  1777.  Her  father,  Jean,  a  notary,  was  a 
handsome  man,  but  of  weak  character;  her  mother,  Juli¬ 
ette  Manton,  was  equally  handsome,  but  of  great  strength 
of  mind  and  business  capacity.  She  amassed  a  fortune 
in  speculation,  and  held  it  through  the  horrors  of  the 
Reign  of  Terror.  She  was  not  only  capable,  but  viva¬ 
cious  and  graceful,  finding  time  to  educate  her  daughter 
carefully,  and  to  be  to  her  a  sister  as  well  as  a  mother. 
The  two  were  inseparable. 

When  Julie,  or  Juliette  as  she  was  usually  called,  was 
seven  years  old,  her  father  having  been  appointed  collector 
of  customs  in  Paris,  she  was  sent  to  the  home  of  her 
mother’s  sister,  Madame  Blachette,  at  Ville-franche.  Here 
she  was  very  happy  in  the  affection  of  a  child  of  her  own 
age,  Renard  Ilumblot,  the  first  of  her  almost  numberless 
admirers. 

After  a  time  she  became  a  pupil  at  the  convent  of  La 
Dcserte  at  Lyons,  where  one  of  her  mother’s  sisters  had 
become  a  nun.  She  left  this  school  with  great  reluctance, 
to  live  in  Paris.  After  her  death,  this  notice  of  her 
school  life  was  found  among  her  papers  :  — 

The  next  day,  bathed  in  tears,  I  passed  over  the  threshold 
of  that  door,  the  opening  of  which  to  admit  me  I  could  scarcely 
remember.  I  was  put  into  a  carriage  with  my  aunt,  and  we  set 
off  for  Paris.  From  this  serene  and  innocent  period  of  my  life 
I  turn  with  regret  to  one  of  turmoil.  The  former  comes  back 
to  me  sometimes  like  a  vague,  sweet  dream,  with  its  clouds  of 
incense,  its  innumerable  ceremonies,  its  processions  in  the  gar¬ 
dens,  its  chants,  and  its  flowers.  .  .  . 


64 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMAXHOOD. 


It  is  doubtless  owing  to  these  vivid  impressions,  received 
during  childhood,  that  I  have  been  able  to  retain  my  religious 
belief,  though  coming  in  contact  with  persons  of  such  various 
and  contradictory  opinions.  I  have  listened  to  them,  understood 
them,  admitted  them,  as  far  as  they  were  admissible;  but  I 
have  never  allowed  doubt  to  enter  my  heart. 

In  Paris,  Juliette  went  early  into  the  social  life  of 
which  her  mother  was  fond.  Once  at  Versailles,  when 
Louis  XVI.,  Marie  Antoinette,  and  the  whole  royal  family 
dined  in  public,  as  the  crowd  passed  around  the  table  the 
beauty  of  the  young  Juliette  attracted  the  queen,  who 
sent  for  her  to  come  to  their  private  apartments.  Here 
she  met  the  princess  royal,  a  girl  about  her  own  age, 
eleven  or  twelve  years  old. 

Juliette  grew  to  womanhood  very  graceful,  timid,  yet 
elegant  in  manner,  very  fond  of  dancing,  and  gifted  in 
music.  She  gave  up  singing  and  the  harp  iii  later  life, 
but  always  retained  her  skill  on  the  piano.  'When  blind, 
years  afterwards,  she  would  play  from  the  old  masters  at 
twilight,  while  the  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 

Twice  a  week,  the  mother,  Madame  Bernard,  gave  fine 
suppers  at  her  home,  where  she  welcomed  all  clever  peo¬ 
ple.  Among  the  visitors  was  M.  Recamier,  a  rich  banker, 
tall  and  fair,  with  blue  eyes  and  regular  features.  He 
was  well  versed  in  Latin,  often  quoting  Horace  and  Virgil, 
and  also  spoke  Spanish  fluently.  He  was  a  good  talker, 
very  hopeful,  throwing  off  care  easily,  agreeable,  without 
very  deep  feelings,  and  generous. 

He  was  forty-two  and  Juliette  fifteen  when  he  asked  her 
in  marriage.  He  had  been  kind  to  the  child  and  had 
given  her  pretty  playthings.  He  was  proud  of  her  girlish 
beauty,  and  she  regarded  him  as  a  father.  They  were 
married  April  21,  1793. 


MADAME  RECAMIER. 


MADAME  RECAMIER. 


65 


The  Reign  of  Terror  was  at  its  height.  Beautiful  Marie 
Antoinette  went  to  the  scaffold  that  year.  M.  Recamier 
saw  her  die,  expecting  daily  that  he  and  his  family  would 
meet  the  same  fate. 

For  four  years  Juliette  Recamier  lived  a  quiet,  unevent¬ 
ful  life,  till  order  was  somewhat  restored  in  distracted 
France.  She  had  become  very  beautiful.  Her  com¬ 
plexion  was  surprisingly  fair,  her  teeth  white  and  regular, 
her  mouth  small,  her  dark  eyes  brilliant  though  not  large, 
her  hair  black  and  curling  naturally,  and  her  face  arch 
and  frank,  lighting  up  with  an  irresistible  expression 
of  goodness  and  interest  in  those  she  met.  Her  head 
was  well  poised,  and  her  carriage  slightly  indicative  of 
pride. 

Her  presence  was  solicited  at  subscription  balls  and 
other  public  places.  At  St.  Roch  she  was  asked  to  pass 
the  contribution  box  for  a  charitable  object.  So  intense 
was  the  desire  to  see  her  that  the  church  was  crowded, 
and  people  stood  on  chairs  and  altars  of  the  side  chapels 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  beauty  of  nineteen.  The  col¬ 
lection  amounted  to  twenty  thousand  francs.  Crowds 
gathered  to  see  her  in  the  fashionable  drives  at  Long- 
champs. 

In  the  summers  she  and  her  mother  lived  at  the  chateau 
of  Clichy,  its  park,  abounding  in  flowers,  of  which  Juli¬ 
ette  was  passionately  fond,  extending  to  the  Seine.  M. 
Recamier  dined  with  her  every  day,  but  slept  at  Baris, 
where  his  tastes  and  his  business  called  him. 

On  Dec.  10,  1797,  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  the  young 
Corsican  officer,  had  returned  from  his  triumphs  in  Italy, 
and  the  Directory  were  giving  a  fete  in  his  honor  in  the 
great  court  of  the  Luxembourg  palace.  Five  Directors, 
dressed  in  Roman  costume,  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  statue 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


66 

of  Liberty,  while  the  place  was  thronged  with  ministers, 
invited  guests,  and  the  people,  eager  in  their  hero  worship. 

Talleyrand,  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs,  made  a  speech 
of  congratulation,  and  Bonaparte  responded  in  a  few  sim¬ 
ple  and  strong  words.  Juliette  Recamier,  dressed,  as 
was  her  custom,  in  white,  desiring  to  see  the  face  of  the 
slender  young  soldier,  rose  in  her  seat  to  look  at  him. 
The  eyes  of  the  crowd  were  attracted  in  a  moment,  and 
a  murmur  of  admiration  swept  through  the  audience. 
Napoleon,  though  not  knowing  her,  gave  her  a  stern  look, 
and  she  hastily  took  her  seat.  She  was  to  know  him 
later  on,  receive  his  admiration,  and  then  feel  his  severity. 

The  following  year,  1798,  M.  Recamier  bought  a  house 
in  Paris,  in  the  Rue  du  Mont  Blanc,  afterwards  No.  7 
Chaussee  d’Antin.  It  had  been  the  home  of  M.  Neeker, 
the  father  of  Madame  de  Stael,  and  through  this  trans¬ 
action  the  life-long  friendship  of  Madame  Recamier  and 
Madame  de  Stael  began. 

The  mansion  was  immediately  repaired  and  enlarged. 
The  chairs  were  mahogany  and  ormolu,  in  cloth  or  silk, 
and  trimmed  with  gold  lace.  Juliette’s  bed  was  consid¬ 
ered  the  most  beautiful  in  Paris,  —  mahogany  enriched 
with  ormolu  and  bronze,  covered  with  embroidered  mus¬ 
lin,  bordered  with  gold  lace.  Her  bath  room  was  inlaid 
with  satin  wood  and  mahogany,  with  arabesque  patterns 
in  black.  No  expense  was  spared  to  make  this  abode  one 
of  rare  elegance  and  luxury. 

Napoleon  had  become  First  Consul,  and  in  the  winter 
of  1790  Lucien.  his  brother,  then  Home  Minister,  made  a 
fete  in  his  honor.  For  a  year  Lucien,  twenty-four  years 
old,  had  been  deeply  in  love  with  Madame  Recamier.  She 
showed  his  ardent  letters  to  her  husband,  and  wished  to 
forbid  him  her  house,  but  M.  Recamier  feared  to  offend 


MA DAME  ll£.  CAMIEM. 


67 


the  brother  of  the  First  Consul,  lest  his  banking  business 
should  be  injured. 

At  the  fite  Madame  Recamier  appeared  in  white  satin, 
with  necklace  and  bracelets  of  pearl,  —  she  never  wore 
diamonds  even  when  possessed  of  her  greatest  wealth. 

At  dinner,  Napolean  passed  alone  into  the  dining-room 
without  offering  his  arm  to  any  lady  present.  He  sat  at 
the  middle  of  the  table,  his  mother,  Madame  Letitia,  on 
his  right,  while  no  one  dared  to  take  the  vacant  place  at 
his  left. 

After  dinner  he  said  to  Madame  Recamier,  “Why  did 
you  not  take  the  seat  next  to  me?  ” 

“  I  should  not  have  presumed,”  she  replied. 

“  It  was  your  place,”  he  answered.  During  the  music 
after  dinner,  Napoleon’s  constant  gaze  made  her  very 
uncomfortable. 

Five  years  later,  when  the  First  Consul  had  become 
Emperor,  Fouche,  Minister  of  the  Police,  was  sent  by 
Napoleon  to  ask  Madame  Recamier  to  attach  herself  to 
his  court  as  lady  of  honor.  “  He  has  not  yet,”  said 
Fouche,  “met  a  woman  worthy  of  him;  and  no  one 
knows  what  the  love  of  Napoleon  might  be,  if  he  at¬ 
tached  himself  to  a  pure  person.  Assuredly  he  would 
allow  her  to  exert  an  intluonce  that  would  be  entirely 
beneficent.” 

Mad  ame  Recamier  refused  the  position.  She  admired 
the  genius  of  Napoleon,  but  she  could  not  forgive  him 
for  banishing  many  of  her  friends,  Madame  de  Staid,  the 
noble  Gen.  Moreau,  and  others. 

The  execution  of  the  Duke  d’Enghien  seemed  to  her  a 
blot  upon  his  character.  The  duke,  a  prince  of  the  House 
of  Bourbon,  suspected  by  Napoleon  of  plotting  against 
him.  was  arrested,  tried  by  court-martial  at  four  o’clock 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


08 

in  the  morning,  March  21,  1814,  and,  though  not  proven 
guilty,  was  shot  at  half-past  four  at  Vincennes,  and  buried 
in  a  grave  already  dug  for  him  before  the  trial.  Fouchc 
said  of  this  act,  "It  was  worse  than  a  crime;  it  was  a 
blunder.” 

M.  Bernard,  the  father  of  Madame  Recamier,  had  been 
arrested  and  deprived  of  the  office  of  postmaster-general, 
having  incurred  the  displeasure  of  Napoleon  for  allowing 
Royalist  documents  to  be  circulated. 

Fouchc  was  angered  at  Madame  Recamier’s  refusal,  and 
it  is  probable  that  his  imperial  master  never  forgave  her. 
The  emperor,  when  at  St.  Helena,  dictated  this  state¬ 
ment  :  — 

“  Napoleon,  upon  first  taking  the  reins  of  the  govern¬ 
ment,  was  obliged  to  sign  on  trust  a  number  of  lists ;  but 
he  very  soon  established  a  strict  inspection  over  every 
department  He  discovered  that  a  correspondence  with 
the  Chouans  was  going  on,  under  cover  of  M.  Bernard, 
the  father  of  Madame  Recamier.  He  was  immediately 
removed,  and  was  in  danger  of  being  brought  to  trial  and 
condemned  to  death.  His  daughter  hastened  to  the  First 
Consul,  and  through  her  solicitations  her  father  was  not 
tried  ;  but  Napoleon  was  resolute  with  regard  to  his  dis- 
missah  Madame  Recamier.  accustomed  to  obtain  every¬ 
thing,  aimed  at  nothing  less  than  the  restoration  of  her 
father  to  office.  Such  was  the  state  of  morality  of  the 
times,  that  this  severity  on  the  part  of  the  First  Consul 
caused  great  outcries.  People  were  not  used  to  it.  Madame 
Recamier  and  her  party,  which  was  numerous,  never  for¬ 
gave  him.” 

In  1802,  Madame  Recamier  accompanied  by  her  mother, 
visited  England,  the  Duke  do  Guignes,  ambassador  to 
London  under  Louis  XVI.,  giving  her  enthusiastic  letters 


MADAME  RECAMIER. 


69 

of  introduction.  Everywhere  she  received  the  greatest 
attention.  The  Duchess  of  Devonshire  became  her  inti¬ 
mate  friend.  The  Prince  of  Wales  showed  her  every 
courtesy.  The  journals  vied  with  each  other  in  descrip¬ 
tions  of  her.  Great  crowds  gathered  on  the  streets  and 
in  Kensington  Gardens  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her.  Pic¬ 
tures  of  her  were  spread  throughout  England,  and  were 
carried  to  the  isles  of  Greece. 

The  celebrated  painter,  David,  had  made  a  portrait  of 
her,  with  which  he  was  not  wholly  satisfied,  and  Gerard 
had  painted  his  full-length  portrait  of  her.  David’s  pic¬ 
ture  was  sold  to  the  museum  of  the  Louvre  for  six  thou¬ 
sand  francs. 

Madame  Recamier  already  had  formed  some  devoted 
friendships  which  lasted  through  life.  Matthieu  Jean 
Felicite,  the  Duke  de  Montmorency,  met  her  when  he 
was  thirty-eight  and  she  twenty-three.  He  had  served  in 
the  war  of  the  American  Revolution  under  his  father, 
had  married  early  in  life  Mile,  de  Luynes,  by  whom  he 
had  one  daughter,  and  though  one  of  the  old  aristocracy 
of  France,  had  embraced  liberal  ideas,  and  in  the  National 
Assembly  had  moved  to  abolish  the  privileges  of  the 
nobility.  The  execution  of  his  brother,  the  Abbe  de 
Laval,  whom  he  loved  tenderly,  led  the  impetuous  and 
worldly  young  man  to  become  a  devoted  Christian. 

The  duke  knew  when  he  first  met  Madame  Recamier 
that  her  life  was  not  a  happy  one.  Married  to  a  man 
nearly  three  times  her  own  age,  without  similarity  of 
tastes,  without  children  in  the  home,  her  heart  was  deso¬ 
late.  He  admired  her  tenderness,  her  purity,  and  her 
constant  thought  for  others.  lie  saw  her  desire  to  please 
and  her  longing  for  love  rather  than  for  admiration,  and 
he  feared  the  results  for  her.  Till  his  death,  through  all 


70 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


the  cares  of  state  that  weighed  upon  him,  he  never  ceased 
to  watch  over  her,  and  write  to  her  in  his  absence. 

“  Do  all  those  things  that  are  good  and  kind,  and  that 
will  cause  no  heart-breaks  or  leave  regrets  behind,”  he 
wrote  her.  “  I  am  not  without  fear  of  the  daily  effects 
of  a  frivolous  society  which  can  do  you  no  good,  and  to 
which  you  yourself  are  superior.  ...  I  hope  you  have 
not  forgotten  your  promise  to  devote,  daily,  half  an  hour 
to  consecutive  and  serious  reading.  These  two  conditions 
are  indispensable ;  and  also  a  few  moments  to  prayer  and 
meditation.  Is  this  too  much  to  ask  for  the  greatest,  one 
might  say  the  only,  interest  of  life?” 

George,  Grand  Duke  of  Mecklenburg-Strelitz,  brother 
of  the  Queen  of  Prussia,  became  her  sincere  friend.  He 
wrote  her  nearly  forty  years  after  the  beginning  of  their 
friendship,  “  It  [the  heart]  tells  me  that  the  ravishing 
beauty  with  which  nature  had  endowed  you  is  only  the 
reflection  of  an  adorable  soul,  and  that  such  a  soul  could 
never  forget  any  one  whom  it  once  judged  worthy  of  its 
esteem  and  affection.  ...  We  all  look  upon  you  as  the 
embodiment  of  perfect  beauty  and  perfect  goodness.” 

General  Bernadotte,  afterwards  king  of  Sweden,  was 
her  devoted  friend.  He  wrote  her  while  she  was  in  Eng¬ 
land,  “In  the  midst  of  all  the  attention  and  homage  which 
you  receive,  and  which  you  so  justly  merit,  pray  do  not 
forget  that  the  being  the  most  devoted  to  you  in  the  world 
is  Bernadotte.” 

Madame  Recamier  did  not  find  her  pleasure  in  society 
alone.  She  was  foremost  in  all  charities,  founding  schools 
for  girls,  visiting  the  poor  and  the  afflicted,  and  giving 
sympathy  and  appreciation  as  fully  as  she  gave  money 
and  time. 

One  Saturday,  in  the  autumn  of  180G,  M.  Recamier 


MADAME  It  A  CAM  IE  It. 


71 


came  to  his  wife  much  disturbed.  His  banking-house  was 
embarrassed.  If  the  Bank  of  France  would  advance  a 
million,  he  might  not  fail. 

Invitations  were  already  issued  for  a  great  dinner  which 
they  were  to  give.  M.  Recamier  hastened  to  the  country 
because  he  could  not  meet  the  guests.  The  wife  of 
twenty-nine  years  must  do  it,  and  do  it  with  all  her  accus¬ 
tomed  grace  and  cheerfulness.  The  dinner  was  given, 
and  Madame  Recamier  met  all  with  a  smiling  face,  while 
her  heart  was  aching. 

The  loan  of  the  million  was  harshly  refused  by  the 
government,  the  resentment  of  the  emperor,  doubtless, 
having  something  to  do  with  the  refusal.  The  great 
banking-house  of  M.  Recamier  failed,  and  many  smaller 
houses  in  consequence.  M.  Recamier  gave  up  everything 
to  his  creditors,  his  wife  sold  her  jewels  to  help  pay  the 
debts,  and  their  house  aud  valuable  plate  were  disposed  of. 

Those  only  who  have  passed  through  such  an  ordeal 
know  the  anguish  of  it.  To  lose  for  ourselves  is  little 
compared  with  the  fact  that  others  lose  through  us.  To 
owe  and  not  be  able  to  meet  obligations,  however  honestly 
incurred,  has  led  to  many  a  heart-break  and  suicide. 

The  sympathy  for  Madame  Recamier  was  universal. 
Madame  de  Staid  Wrote  her  from  Geneva,  “  How  I  curse 
the  exile  which  will  not  permit  me  to  come  to  you  and 
press  you  to  my  heart !  You  have  lost  all  that  pertains 
to  the  ease  and  luxury  of  life;  but,  if  such  a  thing  could 
be  possible,  you  are  more  beloved  and  more  interesting 
than  ever.  ...  If  it  were  possible  for  me  to  envy  any  one 
whom  I  love,  1  would  willingly  give  all  I  have  to  be  you. 
Beauty  that  has  no  equal  in  Europe,  a  spotless  reputation, 
a  proud  and  generous  character,  —  what  a  wealth  of  1  nip¬ 
piness  still  left  in  this  sad  life,  in  which  we  are  robbed  of 


72 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


so  many  treasures.  .  .  .  There  is  still  happiness  left, 
when  one  is  conscious  of  being  so  well  beloved.  .  .  . 
Neither  death  nor  the  indifference  of  friends  menaces  you, 
and  these  are  eternal  wounds.  Adieu  !  dear  angel,  adieu  !  ” 

Gen.  Bcrnadotte  wrote  her  on  the  eve  of  battle,  “  I 
have  not  ceased  to  give  you  my  prayers  and  best  wishes ; 
but,  though  destined  to  love  you  ever,  I  dared  not  run 
the  risk  of  tiring  you  with  my  letters.  Adieu  !  if  you 
still  think  of  me,  believe  that  you  are  my  chief  thought, 
and  that  nothing  equals  the  sweet  and  tender  friendship 
I  cherish  for  yon.” 

When  Napoleon  was  told  by  Junot,  Duke  d’Abrantes, 
of  the  sorrow  felt  for  Madame  Recamier,  he  answered  im¬ 
patiently,  “  They  could  not  have  paid  more  honor  to  a 
widow  of  a  Marshal  of  France,  who  had  lost  her  husband 
on  the  field  of  battle.” 

Troubles  did  not  come  singly  to  Madame  Recamier.  Her 
mother,  from  whom  she  had  not  been  separated  since  her 
childhood,  had  been  ill  for  some  time.  The  financial  ruin 
of  31.  Recamier,  and  consequent  sorrow  for  her  daughter, 
caused  her  death  Jan.  20,  1807. 

For  six  months  Madame  Recamier  sought  respite  from 
her  grief  in  seclusion,  but  her  health  becoming  affected, 
she  consented  to  visit  Madame  de  Stael  at  Coppet,  in  the 
middle  of  the  summer. 

No  one  has  ever  stood  in  that  gray  chateau  with  its 
green  blinds,  in  the  room  hung  with  Gobelin  tapestry, 
where  Madame  Recamier  used  to  sit  with  Madame  de  Stael 
and  look  out  upon  placid  Lake  Geneva,  so  restful  to  two 
troubled  lives,  without  feeling  the  deepest  interest  in  these 
two  remarkable  women. 

At  the  time  of  Madame  Recamier’s  visit,  Prince  Augus¬ 
tus  of  Prussia,  the  nephew  of  Frederick  the  Great,  was 


MADAME  BA'CAMIEB. 


73 


staying  at  Geneva.  He  was  but  twenty-four,  handsome, 
of  fine  figure,  brave  in  war,  and  cultivated  and  refined  in 
peace.  He  had  been  taken  prisoner  at  the  battle  of  Saal- 
feld,  where  his  eldest  brother,  Louis,  was  killed. 

Prince  Augustus  met  Madame  Recamier  at  Coppet,  and 
gave  her  the  supreme  affection  of  his  heart.  He  knew  her 
unhappy  life,  and  urged  her  to  free  herself  from  her  mar¬ 
riage  vows  and  become  his  wife.  She  was  touched  by  his 
devotion,  and  encouraged  by  Madame  de  Stael,  wrote  to 
M.  Recamier  requesting  a  dissolution  of  the  union  which 
had  been  such  only  in  name. 

M.  Recamier  replied  kindly  that  he  would  consent  if 
she  wished  it,  but  he  recalled  his  affection  given  her  from 
her  childhood,  his  present  misfortunes,  and  his  oncoming 
age.  If  she  persisted  in  her  request,  he  would  go  witli 
her  outside  of  Paris,  where  they  would  not  be  subject  to 
remark,  and  help  her  obtain  a  separation. 

After  such  a  letter,  her  heart  relented,  and  the  divorce 
was  never  more  thought  of.  For  years  Prince  Augustus 
cherished  the  hope  that  her  resolution  might  be  shaken. 
He  continued  to  write  her  until  he  saw  her  again  eight 
years  later,  in  1815,  when  the  allied  armies  entered  Paris. 
He  was  in  command  of  the  Prussian  artillery,  and  before 
he  reached  the  city  he  besieged  successively  several  for¬ 
tresses,  writing  her  from  each  one. 

lie  met  her  again  in  Paris,  in  1818,  -when  he  commis¬ 
sioned  Gerard  to  paint  for  her  the  picture  of  Corinue, 
“  as  an  immortal  souvenir  of  t he  passion  with  which  she 
had  inspired  him,  and  of  the  glorious  friendship  which 
united  Corinue  and  Juliette.”  In  exchange  for  this 
picture,  Madame  Recamier  sent  him  her  portrait  by 
Gerard . 

The  prince  had  it  hung  in  the  gallery  of  his  palace  at 


74 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Berlin  till  his  death,  when,  in  accordance  with  his  last 
wishes,  it  was  returned  to  her  in  1845.  Three  months 
before  his  death  he  wrote  her,  “The  ring  that  you  gave 
me  I  will  carry  to  the  tomb  ”  It  was  buried  with  him. 
However  unfortunate  this  hopeless  affection  of  the  prince, 
it  was  but  one  of  many  illustrations  of  the  fact  that  no 
person  ever  loved  Madame  Recamier  without  continuing 
this  love  through  life. 

In  the  summer  of  1811,  Madame  Recamier  determined 
to  visit  again  her  exiled  friend  at  Coppet.  Madame  de 
Stael —  ten  thousand  copies  of  her  “Germany”  had  just 
been  destroyed  through  the  decree  of  government  — 
begged  Madame  Recamier  not  to  come  to  her,  fearing 
that  she  too  would  be  exiled.  Other  friends  tried  to 
dissuade  her,  but  she  decided  to  take  the  risk. 

The  result  was  what  had  been  expected.  Madame  de 
Stael  says  in  her  “Ten  Years  of  Exile,”  “It  was  with 
convulsions  of  tears  that  I  saw  her  enter  the  house,  where 
heretofore  her  arrival  had  always  been  welcomed  with  joy. 
She  left  the  next  day,  and  repaired  to  the  residence  of  a 
relative,  fifty  leagues  from  Switzerland.  But  it  was  all 
in  vain  :  the  fatal  stroke  of  exile  smote  her  also.  .  .  . 
Separated  from  all  her  friends,  she  passed  whole  months 
in  a  provincial  town,  a  victim  to  the  saddest  and  most 
monotonous  solitude.  Such  was  the  fate  which  I  had 
brought  upon  the  most  brilliant  woman  of  her  day.” 

Madame  Recamier  lived  in  exile,  forty  leagues  from 
Paris,  at  Chalons-sur-Marne,  with  the  little  niece  of 
M.  Recamier,  whom  she  had  adopted  a  few  weeks  pre¬ 
viously.  Very  few  friends  dared  to  visit  her.  To  relieve 
the  monotony,  she  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  organist 
of  the  parish,  and  went  every  Sunday  to  play  the  organ 
at  high  mass.  She  resolved  never  to  ask  to  be  returned 


MAD  A  ME  BACAMIEE. 


75 


to  prance,  and  requested  her  friends  who  were  near  the 
emperor  never  to  mention  her  name  in  his  presence. 

After  ten  months  of  this  lonely  life,  she  was  induced, 
by  Madame  de  Stael,  to  go  to  Lyons  in  June,  1812,  and 
reside  at  the  Hotel  de  l’Europe.  Here  she  met  the  elegant 
Duchess  de  Chevreuse,  who  was  dying  in  consequence 
of  exile.  She  was  the  daughter-in-law  of  the  Duchess 
de  Luynes,  whose  daughter  had  married  Matthieu  de 
Montmorency. 

At  the  home  of  Madame  de  Sermesy,  the  niece  of  INI  . 
Simonard,  the  old  friend  of  Madame  Recamier’s  father, 
the  lonely  exile  formed  some  lasting  friendships.  Camille 
Jordan,  the  distinguished  orator,  had  known  her  from 
childhood.  She  had  written  to  him,  when  M.  Recamier 
failed:  “However  unexpected  my  misfortunes,  I  have 
been  able  to  bear  them  with  resignation,  and  I  have 
had  the  satisfaction  of  consoling  and  alleviating  the  suf¬ 
ferings  of  my  husband  and  family;  and  should  I  not, 
also,  dear  Camille,  return  thanks  to  Heaven,  who,  in  re¬ 
serving  for  me  such  bitter  trials,  has  given  me  friends  to 
aid  me  in  bearing  them  ?  ” 

It  was  a  delight  to  meet  this  friend  again.  He  intro¬ 
duced  her  to  the  eminent  Christian  philosopher,  31.  Bal- 
lanche,  a  member  of  the  French  Academy  and  of  the 
Academy  of  Lyons.  Ballanche  had  loved  a  young  lady 
of  noble  birth,  but  without  fortune,  had  aided  her  father, 
and  had  expected  to  win  the  daughter,  but  had  been  dis¬ 
appointed  in  his  hopes. 

When  introduced  to  Madame  Recamier,  31.  Ballanche 
talked  to  her  upon  philosophy,  and  literary  and  political 
subjects.  Though  not  a  great  talker,  she  had  so  improved 
her  mind  by  wide  reading,  that  in  her  communion  with 
men  of  intellect  she  could  listen,  as  Sainte-Beuve  said, 
“  avec  seduction.” 


76 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


From  the  hour  that  M.  Ballauche  met  her,  he  became 
her  devoted  friend  for  life.  She  was  essential  to  his  writ¬ 
ing,  to  his  comfort,  to  his  very  existence.  When  it 
became  necessary  for  her  to  go  to  Italy  for  her  health,  lie 
selected  the  books  for  her  to  take  in  her  carriage,  among 
them  Chateaubriand’s  “  Genius  of  Christianity.” 

He  wrote  her  after  her  departure  :  “  You  are  the  per¬ 
sonification  of  indulgence  and  pity  ;  you  have  seen  in  me 
an  exile  from  happiness,  and  have  had  compassion  on 
me.  .  .  .  Allow  me  to  entertain  for  you  the  feelings  of  a 
brother  for  a  sister.  I  long  for  the  time  when  I  shall  be 
able  to  offer  you.  along  with  these  fraternal  sentiments, 
all  the  humble  homage  in  my  power.  My  devotion  will 
be  entire,  and  without  reserve.  1  would  sacrifice  my  own 
happiness  to  yours.  There  is  justice  in  t his,  for  you  are 
of  more  value  than  I.” 

Later  he  wrote:  “My  one  absorbing  thought  is  my 
warm  feeling  of  friendship  for  you.  I  have  need  to  be 
assured  by  you,  and  that  as  often  as  possible,  that  this 
sentiment  shall  not  end  in  unhappiness  for  me.  I  con¬ 
fess,  that  every  time  I  think  of  it  I  feel  a  kind  of  terror 
that  I  cannot  master.  The  idea  often  occurs  to  me  that 
you  think  you  are  attached  to  me,  but  that  it  is  not  really 
so:  this  thought  is  an  agony.” 

After  visiting  Parma,  Modena,  Bologna,  and  Florence, 
she  arrived  at  Pome  in  Holy  Week,  1813,  and  soon  took 
lodgings  on  the  first  floor  of  the  Fiano  Palace  on  the 
Cor  so. 

One  of  her  first  visits  was  to  the  studio  of  Canova.  He 
was  delighted  to  see  the  “  most  beautiful  woman  in 
Europe,”  and  she  in  turn  to  meet  genius,  which  she  always 
worshipped.  He  returned  her  visit  that  evening,  and  from 
that  time,  while  she  remained  in  Italy,  he  never  failed  to 


MADAME  li£c AMIES. 


77 


pass  the  evening  with  her.  He  came  early,  and  went 
away  a  little  before  ten  o’clock.  Every  morning  he  sent 
her  a  pleasant  note.  Her  appreciation  became  a  necessity, 
and  her  friendship  an  inspiration. 

When  summer  came,  Canova  invited  Madame  Recamier 
to  his  home  at  Albano,  in  the  Hotel  Emiliano.  He  re¬ 
served  for  himself  and  his  brother,  the  abbe,  the  rooms 
facing  the  square,  and  gave  to  Madame  Recamier  and  her 
niece  those  commanding  a  view  of  the  Campagna.  J.  B. 
Bassi,  a  Roman  artist,  painted  a  picture  of  this  residence 
with  Madame  Recamier  seated  near  the  window  reading. 
Canova  sent  her  the  picture  in  1816.  At  Albano,  as  at 
Chalons,  she  played  the  organ  every  Sunday  at  high  mass 
and  vespers. 

In  December,  1813,  she  visited  Naples,  and  received 
great  courtesy  from  King  Joachim  Murat  and  Queen 
Caroline,  the  sister  of  Napoleon.  Murat  had  been  a 
faithful  ally  of  Napoleon,  but  the  Neapolitans  declared 
in  favor  of  separation  from  France.  He  signed  the  treaty 
which  bound  him  to  the  Allies  Jan.  11,  1814. 

While  absent  with  his  troops,  Caroline  was  regent. 
When  about  to  sign  a  death  warrant,  Madame  Recamier, 
who  was  present,  begged  for  the  life  of  the  accused.  She 
said  to  the  queen,  “Since  heaven  has  brought  me  here 
at  this  time,  it  is  a  sign  that  Providence  would  save  this 
unhappy  man.”  Her  request  was  granted,  and  the  man 
was  pardoned 

On  the  return  of  Madame  Recamier  to  Rome,  Canova 
showed  her  two  clay  busts  which  he  had  made  of  her, 
exclaiming,  “  Mira,  se  he  pensato  a  lei”  (See,  I  have 
thought  of  you) . 

The  busts  did  not  satisfy  her,  though  she  tried  to  con¬ 
ceal  her  feelings.  The  artist  saw  it,  and  added  a  crown 


78 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


of  olives  to  the  bust  with  a  veil,  making  the  well-known 
figure  of  the  Beatrice  of  Dante.  A  copy  of  this,  in  mar¬ 
ble,  was  sent  to  Madame  Recamier  by  Canova’s  brother, 
after  the  death  of  the  sculptor. 

Meanwhile  Napoleon  had  fallen  and  been  sent  to  the 
island  of  Elba.  Madame  Recamier  returned  to  Paris, 
June  1,  1814,  after  an  exile  of  nearly  three  years. 

The  House  of  Bourbon  came  back  to  power  iu  the  per¬ 
son  of  Louis  XVI 1 1.  The  Restoration  brought  back  to 
Paris  Madame  Moreau,  the  wife  of  the  illustrious  general, 
Madame  de  Stael,  Matthieu  de  Montmorency,  and  other 
noted  friends  of  Madame  Recamier.  M.  Recamier  had 
somewhat  regained  his  fortune,  and  his  wife  had  come 
into  possession  of  her  mother’s  property,  valued  at  four 
hundred  thousand  francs.  Life  seemed  again  joyous 
and  prosperous.  Friends  as  ever  gathered  to  pay  her 
homage. 

The  Duke  of  Wellington  came  often  to  her  salon. 
Though  a  Royalist,  Madame  Recamier  received  at  her 
home  distinguished  friends,  irrespective  of  party. 

The  religious  Baroness  Ivriidener,  who  exerted  such  an 
influence  over  the  mind  of  the  Emperor  Alexander,  asked 
for  Madame  Recamier’s  presence  at  her  meetings,  but 
deputed  the  brilliant  Benjamin  Constant  to  write  her : 
“  Madame  Knideuer  begs  that  you  will  make  your  appear¬ 
ance  with  as  few  charms  as  possible.  She  says  that  you 
dazzle  everybody,  and  consequently,  as  all  hearts  are  dis¬ 
turbed,  attention  is  impossible.  You  cannot  divest  your¬ 
self  of  your  beauty;  but,  prithee,  do  not  enhance  it.” 

In  the  summer  of  1817  a  great  sorrow  came  to  Madame 
Recamier  in  the  death  of  Madame  de  Stael.  She,  too, 
had  lived  in  a  loveless  marriage  till  she  wedded  the  young 
army  officer,  Rocca.  in  1811,  when  she  was  forty-five  and 


MADAME  RECAMIER. 


79 


he  twenty-three.  For  six  years  they  idolized  each  other 
He  died  seven  months  after  her  death.  “  I  hoped,”  he 
said,  “  to  have  died  in  her  arms.” 

The  loss  to  Madame  Recamier  was  irreparable.  Madame 
de  Stael  had  loved  her  with  no  common  affection.  She 
wrote  her:  “  If  I  could  live  near  you,  I  should  be  only 
too  happy.  .  .  .  Your  friendship  is  like  the  spring  in  the 
desert,  that  never  fails  ;  and  this  it  is  which  makes  it  im¬ 
possible  not  to  love  you.  .  .  .  You  ax-e,  and  you  will  ever 
remain,  an  angel  of  purity  and  goodness,  worshipped  by 
the  devout  as  well  as  by  worldlings.” 

When  absent  they  corresponded  regularly,  though 
Madame  de  Stael  truly  said,  “There  is  no  such  thing 
as  absence  for  Christians,  because  they  meet  each  other 
in  the  sentiment  of  prayer.” 

By  the  bedside  of  Madame  de  Stael,  Madame  Recamier 
made  the  acquaintance  of  the  man  to  whom  she  was  there¬ 
after  to  give  the  first  place  in  her  heart,  M.  de  Chateaubri¬ 
and.  lie  was  a  man  of  brilliant  talents,  a  statesman,  a 
person  of  distinguished  bearing,  and  the  foremost  French 
author  of  the  age. 

Born  at  Saint  Malo,  a  quaint  old  seaport  in  Brittany, 
Sept.  4,  1768,  Rene  Francois  Auguste,  Viscount  de  Cha¬ 
teaubriand,  was  nine  years  the  senior  of  Madame  Recamier. 
His  family  was  one  of  the  most  ancient  in  Brittany.  II is 
father  destined  him  for  the  naval  profession,  and  later  he 
thought  of  entering  the  church,  but,  diverted  from  this 
by  sceptical  books,  he  became  infidel  in  sentiment  and 
weary  of  existence.  He  was  tempted  to  commit  suicide, 
but  was  saved  from  this  by  his  brother,  the  Count  de 
Combourg,  who  obtained  for  him  a  lieutenancy  in  the 
regiment  of  Navarre. 

When  he  was  eighteen,  after  the  death  of  his  father, 


80 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


he  returned  with  his  family  to  Paris.  Alarmed  at  the 
excesses  of  the  French  Revolution,  he  embarked  in  Jan¬ 
uary,  1791,  for  the  United  States,  hoping  to  find  by  the 
support  and  help  of  Malesherbes,  the  eminent  statesman, 
a  northwest  passage  to  the  Polar  Sea. 

AVith  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Gen.  Washington,  the 
President,  he  called  upon  him,  was  received  with  great 
kindness,  and  was  invited  to  dine  with  him.  He  never 
saw  Washington  afterwards,  but  the  visit  made  a  lasting 
impression  upon  him.  He  said,  years  later,  “There  is 
virtue  in  the  look  of  a  great  man.  I  felt  myself  warmed 
and  refreshed  by  it  during  the  rest  of  my  life."’ 

After  visiting  New  York,  Boston,  and  other  cities,  he 
dressed  himself  in  the  garb  of  an  Indian  hunter,  and 
travelled  through  the  wilderness,  spending  weeks  in  some 
Indian  village,  and  sometimes  sleeping  under  a  great  tree 
beside  a  camp-fire,  “  locked,”  he  said,  “  in  the  arms  of  a 
limitless  moonlit  silence,  broken  only  by  the  cries  of  wild 
animals,  or  the  stir  of  the  wind-swept  leaves,  or  the  dis¬ 
tant  roar  of  eternal  Niagara.” 

Finding  in  an  English  newspaper,  in  a  Canadian  cabin, 
an  account  of  the  arrest  of  Louis  XArI.  he  hastened  back 
to  France  to  find  his  family  imprisoned  and  his  estates 
confiscated. 

At  the  request  of  his  sister,  he  married  Mile,  de  La- 
vigne,  a  lady  of  considerable  fortune.  Going  to  Germany 
to  join  some  French  nobles  in  defence  of  his  country,  he 
was  wounded,  and  finally  made  his  way  to  London,  where 
he  lived  for  several  years  in  poverty  and  exile,  spending 
his  days  in  translating  books  to  gain  a  livelihood,  and  his 
evenings  in  composing  bis  “  Essay  on  Revolutions.” 

This  was  published  in  1797,  and  created  a  sensation. 
While  it  advocated  the  principles  of  virtue  and  natural 


MADAME  BACAMEE. 


81 


religion,  the  author  doubted  whether  the  Christian  religion 
was  not  crumbling  away  with  the  institutions  of  society. 

Meantime  sorrow  was  touching  his  heart.  His  brother 
and  sister-in-law,  with  his  friend  Malesherbes,  had  per¬ 
ished  on  the  scaffold.  His  wife  and  sister  had  been  im¬ 
prisoned  at  Rennes,  and  his  aged  mother  at  Paris.  She 
was  a  woman  of  marked  ability,  from  whom  Chateaubriand 
inherited  his  wonderful  memory  and  remarkable  imagina¬ 
tion.  She  died  in  1798,  with  a  prayer  on  her  lips  for  the 
conversion  of  her  son. 

“  She  charged  one  of  my  sisters,”  he  said,  “  to  recall 
me  to  a  sense  of  that  religion  in  which  I  had  been  edu¬ 
cated,  and  my  sister  made  known  to  me  her  wish.  When 
the  letter  reached  me  beyond  the  water,  my  sister  also 
had  departed  this  life,  having  succumbed  to  the  effects 
of  her  imprisonment.  Those  two  voices  coming  up  from 
the  grave,  and  that  death  which  had  now  become  the  in¬ 
terpreter  of  death,  struck  me  with  peculiar  force.  I 
became  a  Christian.  I  did  not  yield  to  any  great  super¬ 
natural  light :  my  conviction  came  from  the  heart.  1 
wept,  and  I  believed.” 

From  that  time  Chateaubriand  resolved  to  consecrate 
his  pen  to  the  service  of  religion.  He  wrote  and  pub¬ 
lished,  five  years  later,  in  1802,  his  greatest  book,  “The 
Genius  of  Christianity,”  a  work  showing  profound  re¬ 
search  and  great  beauty  of  diction.  It  was  eagerly  read, 
admired,  and  also  denounced.  It  was  given  to  a  people 
at  a  time  of  their  greatest  need.  Infidelity  had  swept 
over  the  nation.  The  Sabbath  was  abolished,  the  churches 
were  closed,  and  Reason  was  enthroned  in  place  of  God. 
Chateaubriand,  with  all  the  resources  of  his  genius,  at¬ 
tempted  to  unfold,  as  he  himseil  said,  “all  the  marvels 
which  religion  has  wrought  in  the  regions  of  poetry, 
morality,  politics,  history,  and  public  charity.” 


82 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Napoleon  said,  “The  style  of  Chateaubriand  is  not  that 
of  Racine  ;  it  is  that  of  a  prophet ;  he  has  received  from 
nature  the  sacred  flame ;  it  breathes  in  all  his  works.” 

When  Napoleon  had  become  First  Consul,  Chateaubri¬ 
and  returned  to  France  under  an  assumed  name  and 
became  one  of  the  editors  of  the  Mercure.  He  had 
already  published  his  great  romance,  “  Atala,”  the  story 
of  an  Indian  girl,  who  is  pledged  by  her  mother  to  vir¬ 
ginity  from  her  cradle,  and  when  she  is  older  takes  the 
vow  never  to  marry.  .She  falls  passionately  in  love  with 
Rene,  an  Indian  warrior,  who  has  been  made  a  captive 
by  her  tribe.  She  plans  his  escape,  and  succeeds  in 
accomplishing  it.  Finding  her  love  for  him  overcoming 
her,  she  kills  herself  rather  than  break  her  vow.  The 
disciples  of  Voltaire  wrote  pamphlets  against  the  book, 
but  it  had  an  extended  reading,  and  brought  its  author 
into  prominence. 

Napoleon,  with  the  hope  of  attracting  the  Bourbon 
sympathizers  to  his  side,  appointed  Chateaubriand  first 
secretary  to  Cardinal  Fesch,  then  ambassador  to  Rome. 
Chateaubriand  tired  of  this  position,  and  Napoleon  made 
him  minister  plenipotentiary  to  the  Valois,  the  day  before 
the  Duke  d’Enghien  was  shot.  Chateaubriand,  not  fear¬ 
ing  the  new  Dictator,  as  did  most  others,  at  once  resigned, 
and  refused  to  accept  any  position  under  the  consular 
regime. 

He  visited  Madame  de  Stael  at  Coppet,  and  then  made 
a  journey  to  the  Holy  Land,  stopping  at  Athens,  Smyrna, 
Cyprus,  and  also  Egypt  and  Spain,  writing  “  Le  dernier 
des  Abencerrages  ”  among  the  ruins  of  the  Alhambra. 

He  returned  to  France  in  May,  1807,  and  greatly 
angered  Napoleon  by  an  article  in  the  Mercure.  He  was 
arrested,  deprived  of  his  interest  in  the  paper,  and  Na- 


MADAME  eACAMIER. 


83 


poleon  spoke  of  having  him  executed  on  the  steps  of  the 
Tuileries.  He  returned  to  his  possessions  near  Aulnay, 
where  he  wrote  three  books. 

His  favorite  sister,  Lucille,  had  died  in  1804.  He  said, 
“There  is  not  a  day  that  I  do  not  weep  for  her.  Lucille 
loved  concealment.  1  have  made  a  solitude  for  her  in  my 
heart,  which  she  will  quit  only  when  I  cease  to  be.” 

When  his  “  Journey  from  Paris  to  Jerusalem,”  in  three 
volumes,  was  ready  for  publication  he  was  informed  that 
it  could  not  be  published  unless  it  contained  some  pages 
of  eulogy  of  Napoleon.  He  refused  to  submit,  but  learn¬ 
ing  that  his  publisher  would  suffer  through  the  suppres¬ 
sion  of  the  work,  he  inserted  some  truthful  words  about 
the  victories  of  the  French  soldiers  and  their  able  general. 

Napoleon  still  hoped  to  win  his  favor,  and  Chateaubri¬ 
and  was  offered  the  place  in  the  French  Academy  made 
vacant  by  the  death  of  Chenier,  and  the  general  super¬ 
vision  of  the  imperial  libraries,  with  a  salary  equal  to  a 
first-class  embassy.  It  was  the  custom  of  the  member- 
elect  to  pronounce  a  eulogy  over  his  predecessor.  As 
Chenier  had  participated  in  the  downfall  of  Louis  XVI., 
Chateaubriand  denounced  the  crimes  of  the  French  Revo- 
lution  and  the  despotism  of  the  existing  government. 
The  emperor  was  exasperated,  and  exclaimed,  “Am  I, 
then,  nothing  more  than  a  usurper  ?  ”  Chateaubriand,  of 
course,  was  not  admitted  to  the  Academy. 

When  the  Allies  entered  France,  Chateaubriand  declared 
in  favor  of  the  ancient  dynasty,  and  published  “  Bona¬ 
parte  and  the  Bourbons,”  which  Louis  XVIII.  said  was 
worth  to  him  an  army  of  one  hundred  thousand  men. 

Under  Louis  XVIII.  Chateaubriand  was  appointed  am¬ 
bassador  to  Sweden,  but  before  his  departure  Napoleon 
returned  from  Elba.  Later  he  was  made  minister  of  the 


84 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


interior  under  Louis  XVIII.,  and  called  to  the  House  of 
Peers,  where  he  made  some  memorable  speeches.  He 
defended  constitutional  government  in  a  work  published 
in  181G,  “  La  Monarchic  selon  la  Charte,”  and  established 
a  periodical,  the  “  Conservateur.” 

While  Chateaubriand  was  leading  this  brilliant  and  in¬ 
fluential  career,  he  was  subject  to  periods  of  deep  depres¬ 
sion.  His  life  was  not  a  happy  one.  It  was  not  strange, 
therefore,  that  in  Madame  Recamier’s  calm  j’et  sympa¬ 
thetic  nature  he  should  find  the  rest  as  well  as  apprecia¬ 
tion  which  his  heart  craved. 

Some  of  her  best  friends  were  anxious  lest  this  new 
friendship  should  bring  her  unrest,  by  reason  of  the 
tumultuous  life  led  by  Chateaubriand.  M.  Ballanche 
hoped  to  divert  her  attention  by  urging  her  to  translate 
one  of  her  favorite  poets,  Petrarch,  a  work  which  she 
began  but  did  not  finish. 

“  Poetry  and  music,”  he  wrote  her,  “  will  throw  a  charm 
over  the  leisure  that  you  will  be  able  to  make  for  yourself. 
You  will  become  famous  in  a  new  way.  You  will  reveal 
that  side  of  yourself  of  which  the  world  as  yet  does  not 
dream.  .  .  .  You  have  under  your  command  the  genius 
of  music,  flowers,  imagination,  and  elegance.  Lift  your 
charming  head,  and  do  not  fear  to  try  your  hand  on  the 
golden  lyre  of  the  poets.  My  mission  in  this  world  may 
consist  in  so  working  that  some  trace  of  your  noble  ex¬ 
istence  may  remain  on  earth.” 

Duke  de  Montmorency  wrote  her  urging  her  not  to  rivet 
“  with  her  own  hands  an  unhappy  fetter,  from  which 
others  will  suffer  as  well  as  yourself.” 

Madame  Recamier  had  purchased  in  the  Rue  d' Anjou 
a  home  for  her  father,  his  old  friend  M.  Simonard,  her  hus¬ 
band,  her  niece  and  herself,  where  she  hoped  to  pass  the 


MADAME  It&CAMIEB. 


85 


remainder  of  her  life  in  peace  and  comfort.  Her  sweet¬ 
ness  of  nature  was  soon  to  be  put  to  another  test.  M. 
Recamier  again  failed  in  business,  this  time  losing  one 
hundred  thousand  francs  of  his  wife’s  money. 

At  this  juncture  she  felt  that  she  must  lead  a  separate 
and  personal  life,  and,  with  the  advice  of  friends,  sought 
an  asylum  in  the  Abbaye-aux-Bois.  With  the  rest  of  her 
fortune  she  supported  her  husband  while  he  lived,  insist¬ 
ing  that  he  should  abandon  his  disastrous  speculations. 
She  provided  for  his  wants  and  those  of  her  father  and 
M.  Simonard  with  filial  affection,  obtaining  a  home  for 
the  three  aged  men  near  the  Abbaye. 

She  lived  on  the  third  floor  of  the  Abbaye  in  a  small 
suite,  paved  with  tiles.  Her  bed-room  was  furnished  with 
a  book-case,  a  harp,  a  piano,  a  portrait  of  Madame  de 
Stael  and  a  view  of  Coppet  by  moonlight.  Several  pots 
of  flowers  w'ere  on  the  window-sill.  At  dinner  all  her 
family  came  to  the  Abbaye  to  dine  with  her,  including 
M.  Ballanche  and  M.  Paul  David,  the  nephew  of  M. 
Recamier. 

At  the  end  of  six  months,  Madame  Recamier  removed 
to  a  suite  of  rooms  on  the  first  floor  of  the  Abbaye, 
which  the  nuns  ceded  to  her  for  life. 

The  Abbaye  soon  became  a  centre  of  meeting  for  the 
most  distinguished  men  and  women  of  France.  Her 
financial  reverses  made  no  difference  in  the  hearts  of  those 
who  loved  her.  Here  came,  every  evening,  Duke  de 
Montmorency.  Here  came  also  Sir  Humphry  and  Lady 
Davy,  Maria  Edgeworth,  Alexander  von  Humboldt,  Eugene 
Delacroix,  Augustin  Thierry,  the  brilliant  linguist,  Pros¬ 
per  Merimee,  whose  “  Letters  to  an  Unknown”  have  been 
one  of  the  fascinating  puzzles  of  literature,  J.  J.  Ampere, 
the  Duchess  of  Devonshire,  the  Duke  of  Hamilton,  the 


86 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMAXTTOOD. 


Queen  of  Sweden,  Gerard,  and  many  others.  Here  Lamar¬ 
tine  read  his  “Meditations,”  and  Delphine  Gay  recited 
her  first  poems.  Miss  Berry,  the  beloved  of  Horace 
Walpole,  came  often  to  the  Abbaye. 

Chateaubriand  had  been  appointed  minister  to  Berlin, 
from  which  place  he  wrote  Madame  Recamier  that  he  had 
been  “overwhelmed  with  kindness  and  respect”  by  the 
royal  family.  The  Duchess  of  Cumberland  became  his 
intimate  friend.  In  his  “  Memoires  d’Outre  Tombe  ”  he 
says,  “  I  visited  her  frequently.  She  often  said  to  me 
that  she  would  like  to  confide  to  me  her  son,  the  little 
George,  the  prince  whom,  it  was  said,  his  cousin  Victoria 
desired  to  place  by  her  side  on  the  throne  of  England.” 
To  Madame  Recamier  he  wrote,  “I  shall  be  absent  only 
a  few  months.  Be  tranquil,  then.  I  will  pass  my  life  near 
you  to  love  you.” 

In  1822  Chateaubriand  was  sent  as  ambassador  to  Lon¬ 
don.  He  wrote  sadly  to  Madame  Recamier,  “  I  cannot  go 
anywhere  here  without  seeing  something  that  recalls  to  me 
my  youth  and  my  sufferings,  the  friends  that  I  have  lost, 
the  people  that  have  passed  away,  the  hopes  that  I  have 
cherished,  my  first  works,  my  dreams  of  glory,  —  every¬ 
thing  in  fact  involved  in  the  future  of  a  young  man  who 
feels  himself  born  for  some  purpose.  I  have  grasped 
some  few  of  my  chimeras,  others  have  escaped  me,  and 
none  of  them  have  been  worth  what  they  cost.  One  thing 
is  left  to  me  ;  and  while  I  retain  that,  I  shall  be  consoled 
for  my  gray  hairs  and  all  my  failures  on  the  long  road 
I  have  been  travelling  for  thirty  years.”  Chateaubriand 
was  now  fifty-four  and  Madame  Recamier  forty-five. 

In  the  midst  of  political  life,  letters  from  her  were  need¬ 
ful  for  his  happiness.  “With  what  joy  I  recognized 
that  fine  hand  !  ”  he  wrote  her.  “  Every  courier  that  ar- 


MADAME  RACAMIER. 


87 


rived  without  one  word  from  you  broke  my  heart.  .  .  . 
Can  you  believe  that  I  am  dazzled,  absorbed  even,  in  the 
part  that  I  am  forced  to  play  in  spite  of  myself  ?  If  you 
do,  you  little  know  me.  I  should  be  sorry,  for  my  part, 
not  to  succeed  here.  I  like  to  do,  as  well  as  I  am  able,  all 
that  I  undertake.  .  .  .  To  be  loved  by  you,  to  live  in  a 
little  retreat  with  you,  and  a  few  books,  is  the  desire  of 
my  heart  and  the  goal  of  all  my  wishes.” 

In  the  autumn  of  1822,  Chateaubriand  and  the  Duke  de 
Montmorency,  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs,  were  sent  to  the 
Congress  of  V erona.  Chateaubriand  was  charmed  with  the 
Emperor  Alexander.  He  wrote  to  Madame  Recamier,  “  He 
is  a  prince  full  of  noble,  generous  qualities.  .  .  .  Prince 
Metteruich  is  a  perfect  gentleman,  agreeable  and  capable. 
In  the  midst  of  it  all  I  am  sad,  and  I  know  why.  I  per¬ 
ceive  that  places  are  no  longer  anything  to  me.  This  beau¬ 
tiful  Italy  has  nothing  more  to  say  to  me.  I  look  at 
these  great  mountains  that  separate  me  from  that  which  I 
love,  and  I  think  with  Caraccioli,  that  a  little  chamber  on 
the  third  floor  in  Paris  is  better  than  a  palace  in  Naples.” 

Chateaubriand  distinguished  himself  at  Verona  for  his 
eloquence  in  the  cause  of  Greece,  and  in  the  defence  of  his 
country  in  relation  to  the  Spanish  war,  and  on  his  return 
he  was  made  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs  in  place  of  Duke 
de  Montmorency.  This  naturally  produced  coldness  be¬ 
tween  the  two  men,  and  it  required  all  of  Madame  Reca- 
mier’s  tact  and  kind  heart  to  bring  about  good  feeling  be¬ 
tween  them. 

She  was  constantly  using  her  high  position  to  aid  some¬ 
body.  Chateaubriand  often  interposed  for  her  sake  for 
an  impulsive  and  brilliant  friend  like  Benjamin  Constant, 
saying,  “  Talent  ought  to  have  privileges.  It  is  the  old¬ 
est  aristocracy  that  I  know  of.” 


88 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Chateaubriand  was  at  the  height  of  his  power.  With  all 
his  greatness  he  was  often  irritable,  cold  where  he  did  not 
care  to  please,  and  sometimes  thoughtless.  “  Ilis  devo¬ 
tion,”  says  Madame  Lenormant,  in  the  life  of  her  aunt, 
Madame  Recamier,  “  was  the  same,  nor  had  his  friend¬ 
ship  grown  cold ;  but  Madame  Recamier  felt  that  he  no 
longer  treated  her  with  that  respectful  reserve  character¬ 
istic  of  those  permanent  sentiments  which  she  wished  only 
to  inspire.” 

The  niece  had  become  ill,  and  her  physicians  advised  a 
southern  climate.  Perhaps  Madame  Recamier,  with  her 
woman’s  intuition,  felt  that  absence  would  produce  a  good 
effect  upon  Chateaubriand.  They  started  for  Italy  Nov. 
2,  1823,  accompanied  by  the  faithful  M.  Ballanche. 

Letters  from  Chateaubriand  followed  her  :  “  When  one 
has  courage  like  you  to  break  up  everything,  what  signi¬ 
fies  the  future?  However,  I  shall  await  you.  If  I  am 
alive,  3Tou  will  find  me  such  as  you  have  left  me,  —  full  of 
you,  not  having  ceased  to  love  you.  .  .  .  Salute  the 
mountains  for  me,  and  the  smiling  valleys  that  I  certainly 
shall  never  see  again.” 

Madame  Recamier  met  with  a  most  cordial  reception  in 
Rome.  Her  old  friend,  the  Duke  de  Laval,  Ambassador 
to  Rome,  put  his  house,  servants,  and  horses  at  her  dis¬ 
posal.  She  spent  much  time  in  the  studios  of  noted  artists. 
The  beautiful  Duchess  of  Devonshire,  formerly  Lady  Eliza¬ 
beth  Foster,  wife  of  the  fifth  duke,  celebrated  in  England 
for  her  beauty,  her  talents,  and  the  romance  of  her  life, 
became  her  intimate  friend. 

The  Duke  de  Laval  said  to  Madame  Recamier:  “The 
duchess  has  some  of  your  qualities,  to  which  she  owes  the 
success  of  her  whole  life.  She  is  the  mildest  of  all  the  women 
who  rule  through  sweetness,  and  she  commands  invariable 


MADAME  RACAMIER. 


89 


obedience.  What  she  did  in  London  in  her  youth,  she 
is  doing  here.  All  Rome  is  at  her  disposal :  ministers, 
cardinals,  painters,  sculptors,  society,  —  all  are  at  her 
feet.” 

Gibbon  said  the  duchess  was  “  so  alluring  that  no  man 
could  withstand  her,  and  if  she  chose  to  beckon  the  Lord 
Chancellor  from  the  woolsack,  in  full  sight  of  the  -world, 
he  could  not  resist  obedience.” 

She  was  large  and  dark,  with  very  brilliant  eyes.  She 
was  the  patron  of  art  and  letters.  She  published,  at  her 
own  expense,  the  fifth  Satire  of  Horace,  with  a  versified 
Italian  translation,  and  also  a  translation  of  the  “JEneid,” 
by  Annibal  Caro.  These  volumes  were  illustrated  by  the 
most  renowned  artists  then  living  in  Italy.  At  her  death, 
in  1824,  she  bequeathed  Madame  Recamier  one  of  the  ele¬ 
gant  rings  which  she  wore. 

Queen  Hortense,  the  mother  of  Napoleon  III.,  came 
often  to  see  Madame  Recamier  while  the  latter  was  in 
Rome.  They  met  usually  at  the  Colosseum,  and  there  had 
long  talks  together,  it  being  deemed  imprudent  that  a 
Bourbon  sympathizer  should  be  seen  with  a  Bouapartist. 
When,  however,  the  queen's  brother,  Eugene  Beauharnais, 
died,  Madame  Recamier  braved  public  opinion,  and  went 
at  once  to  see  her  friend.  These  pleasant  relations  con¬ 
tinued  till  the  death  of  Queen  Hortense  at  the  Chateau  of 
Arenberg.  The  Queen  was  carried  back  to  France  and 
laid  beside  her  mother,  Josephine,  at  Rueil. 

Before  her  death,  Hortense  wrote  to  Madame  Recamier  : 
“  You  are  among  those  persons  to  whom  it  is  not  needful 
to  relate  one’s  life  or  one’s  feelings  ;  the  heart  is  the  best 
interpreter,  and  they  who  thus  read  us  become  necessary 
to  us.  .  .  .  Do  not  entirely  forget  me  ;  believe  me,  your 
friendship  has  done  me  good.  You  know  what  a  comfort 


90 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OP  WOMANHOOD. 


a  friendly  voice  from  one’s  native  country  is,  when  it  comes 
to  us  in  misfortune  and  isolation.  Be  kind  enough  to  tell 
me  that  I  am  unjust,  if  I  complain  too  much  of  my  destiny, 
and  that  I  have  still  some  trends  left.” 

While  in  Italy  Madame  Recamier  visited  Caroline 
Murat,  the  sister  of  Napoleon.  Her  husband,  losing 
his  throne  of  Naples  in  the  downfall  of  Napoleon,  had 
attempted  to  regain  it  and  was  arrested  and  shot.  His 
wife  begged  to  live  at  Rome,  but  as  it  was  probably 
considered  too  near  Naples,  she  was  allowed  to  live  at 
Trieste. 

She  welcomed  her  “dear  Juliette”  with  great  joy. 
“My  position  is  very  sad,”  she  said.  “  I  have  also  the 
grief  of  being  separated  from  my  two  sons.  The  perse¬ 
cutions  to  which  we  have  been  subjected  have  forced  them 
to  go  to  America.  Achilles  has  been  there  two  years ; 
my  second  son  left  me  a  fortnight  ago.  This  separation 
broke  my  heart.” 

Madame  Recamier  spent  eighteen  months  in  Italy.  Bal- 
lanche  was  studying  Roman  history,  and  another  friend 
who  lived  with  them,  .1.  .T.  Ampere,  was  indulging  his 
love  for  travel  and  study.  Ballanche  was  as  ever  depend¬ 
ent  upon  her  society.  He  said,  “When  you  are  laid  in 
your  tomb  of  white  marble,  it  will  be  necessary  to  dig 
quickly  a  ditch  for  me,  in  which  I  shall  hasten  to  lie  down 
in  my  turn.  What  should  I  do  upon  earth?  But  I  do 
not  think  that  you  will  be  the  first  to  pass  away  ;  in  any 
case,  it  seems  to  me  impossible  that  1  could  survive  you.” 

Ampere  was  the  sou  of  the  noted  mathematician, 
Andre  Marie  Ampere,  young,  brilliant,  attractive,  the 
life  of  every  gathering.  His  mother  had  died  when  he 
was  three  years  old,  and  lie  was  the  only  joy  and  hope 
of  his  learned  father,  whom  he  idolized.  The  youth,  with 


MADAME  It  A  CAM  I  EE. 


91 


his  delicate  organization,  love  of  nature,  and  poetic  tem¬ 
perament,  was  a  charming  companion. 

At  twenty  his  father  brought  him  to  the  Abbaye  to  meet 
the  distinguished  company.  Madame  Recamier  was  then 
forty-three.  His  conversation  and  his  noble  qualities 
delighted  her.  For  thirty  years,  till  her  death,  he  was 
like  a  son  or  brother. 

M.  Sainte-Beuve,  the  noted  French  critic,  thus  speaks 
of  these  first  relations  of  his  renowned  friend  at  the 
Abbaye-aux-Bois  :  “During  this  happy,  rapturous  time, 
his  imagination  yielded  itself  captive  to  all  the  charms  of 
a  refined  and  choice  companionship,  made  still  more  at¬ 
tractive  by  a  setting  sun  of  divine  beauty.  .  .  .  She 
talked  to  him  with  her  usual  grace  of  their  charming 
days,  their  drives  and  walks  in  the  valley,  of  the  cheer¬ 
ful  intercourse  to  which  the  young  man’s  animated  con¬ 
versation  had  lent  an  additional  charm.  Then,  touching 
with  her  exquisite  tact  the  tender  chord,  she  casually 
intimated  that  there  had  perhaps  been  opportunities  for 
warmer  feelings,  that  had  they  staid  there  much  longer 
she  would  have  been  afraid,  at  least,  lest  a  heart  inclined 
to  poetry  might  have  begun  to  weave  a  romance,  for  her 
young  niece  was  then  with  her. 

“At  these  words  Ampere  could  not  restrain  himself, 
but  suddenly  bursting  out,  agitated  and  sobbing,  ‘  Ah  !  it 
is  not  for  her,’  he  cried,  and  fell  upon  his  knees.  His 
declaration  was  made,  his  confession  had  escaped  him ; 
he  had,  without  intending  it,  uttered  the  sacred  word,  and 
he  would  not  take  it  back.  .  .  .  From  that  moment  his 
destiny  was  sealed.  Madame  Recamier  had  only  to  go 
on  fascinating  him,  calming  him  by  degrees,  but  never 
curing  him.” 

Ampere  wrote  her  ten  years  after  their  first  meeting  : 


92 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


“  1  am  not,  you  know,  a  great  lover  of  forms,  but  the 
first  day  of  the  year  is  an  epoch  for  me,  the  return  of 
which  I  cannot  see  unmoved.  It  was  on  New  Year’s  day 
that  I  saw  you  for  the  first  time.  That  moment,  when 
you  dawned  upon  me,  dressed  in  white,  with  a  grace 
of  which,  till  then,  I  had  no  conception,  will  never  be 
forgotten. 

“It  was  just  ten  years  ago.  Between  that  time  and 
this  lies  all  my  youth ;  and,  at  every  joyous  or  painful 
epoch  during  that  interval,  you  reappear  to  me  with  all 
the  charm  of  that  first  day,  and  with  even  greater,  for 
daily  intercourse  with  you  has  revealed  to  me  other  rea¬ 
sons  for  loving  and  admiring  you.  .  .  .  Will  you  not 
send  me  for  my  New  Year’s  gift  a  few  of  those  lines  that 
you  alone  know  how  to  write?  It  will  take  you  only  a 
moment,  and  I,  I  live  long  on  such  moments.” 

Madame  Recamier  repaid  these  ardent  affections  by  a 
warm  heart.  She  wrote  Ampere :  “  I  pass  my  life  in 
forming  projects  ;  it  is  the  malady  of  those  who  are  not 
content  with  their  fate.  You  are  included  in  all  my  plans  ; 
it  cannot  be  otherwise.” 

Madame  Lenormant  says  of  her  aunt :  “  If  Madame 
Recamier  was  kind  to  everybody,  in  her  affections  she 
was  exclusive  ;  she  confined  them  to  a  narrow  circle.  She 
was  fond  of  saying  that  there  was  a  certain  taste  in  per¬ 
fect  friendship  to  which  commonplace  characters  could 
not  attain.” 

Ampere’s  father  was  desirous  that  he  should  marry 
Baron  Cuvier’s  only  child,  the  lovely  Clementine,  whose 
early  death  broke  her  father’s  heart.  The  hesitation  of 
young  Ampere  was  a  serious  disappointment  to  his  father. 
She  was  engaged  at  the  time  of  her  death,  by  her  own 
choice,  to  31.  Dupargnet. 


MADAME  ulCAMIEB. 


93 

Ampere  gained  fame  as  an  author  and  a  lecturer.  After 
a  course  on  literature  at  the  Marseilles  Athenaeum,  M.  Le- 
normant  wrote  him:  “Paris  will  now  be  wanting  you; 
your  friends  will  no  longer  be  obliged  to  answer  for  you  ; 
there  is  nothing  like  type  for  making  a  man.  Print  all 
you  can,  —  the  whole  course,  or,  at  least,  the  greater 
part.” 

He  won  a  membership  in  the  Academy  of  Inscriptions 
by  his  works  on  the  sources  of  French  literature,  and  the 
formation  of  the  language.  He  was  for  a  long  time  pro¬ 
fessor  in  the  College  of  France.  He  was  an  officer  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor,  and  a  member  of  the  French  Academy. 
His  “  History  of  Rome,”  in  four  volumes,  shows  great 
learning,  especially  on  archaeological  matters. 

His  soul  was  full  of  poetry.  He  wrote  Madame  Reca- 
niier :  “I  go  and  ensconce  myself  in  a  dark  seat  in  the 
beautiful,  dimly-lighted  church;  there  I  sit ;  I  listen  to 
the  chants ;  with  my  head  bowed  in  sincere  humility  I  re¬ 
ceive  the  benediction  ;  then  I  go  out  and  listen  by  the  sea¬ 
shore  to  another  harmony  and  another  prayer,  —  the 
concert  of  the  winds,  the  waves,  the  stars,  the  night.” 
He  died  March  27,  18G4,  outliving  Madame  Recamier 
fifteen  years. 

Madame  Recamier  returned  to  Paris  from  Rome  the  last 
of  May,  1825.  Charles  X.,  the  brother  of  Louis  XVIII., 
had  come  to  the  throne,  and  both  the  Duke  de  Montmo¬ 
rency  and  Chateaubriand  had  gone  to  Rheims  to  attend 
the  ceremony  of  coronation.  On  their  return,  Chateau¬ 
briand  hastened  to  the  Abbaye  to  greet  again,  with  re¬ 
spectful  tenderness,  her  whose  life  was  so  closely  united  to 
his  own. 

The  following  year,  Feb.  1,  1826,  the  niece  of  Madame 
Recamier  was  married  to  an  accomplished  scholar,  —  M. 


94 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Lenormant,  Inspector  of  Fine  Arts  under  the  Viscount  de 
la  Rochefoucauld.  This  gave  Madame  Recamier  great  hap¬ 
piness,  as  it  was  a  union  of  affection.  “  She  realized  for 
the  child  of  her  adoption,”  says  Madame  Lenormant, 
“that  supreme  felicity  of  love  in  marriage  which  had  been 
the  dream  and  the  regret  of  her  life.” 

Many  times,  in  after  years,  she  wrote  her  niece:  “I 
trust  that  you  will  be  happier  than  I  have  been.  .  .  . 
Your  image  mingles  with  all  my  reveries ;  it  is  through 
you  that  I  have  a  future.  .  .  .  Your  griefs  are  passing 
ones,  and  your  lot  seems  so  sweet  to  me  that  I  would 
willingly  give  the  brightest  days  of  my  life  for  your 
saddest  ones.” 

This  year,  182(3,  the  Duke  de  Montmorency  died  in 
prayer  at  his  parish  church,  St.  Thomas  Aquinas,  on  Good 
Friday.  His  wife  engaged  a  room  at  the  Abbaye  that  she 
might  come  there  frequently  for  prayer  and  seclusion,  and 
to  talk  with  Madame  Recamier  about,  her  lamented  dead. 

Chateaubriand  was  appointed  Ambassador  to  Rome 
under  Charles  X.,  and  left  for  that  city  September,  1828. 
He  wrote  to  Madame  Recamier  :  “  All  my  happiness  is  in 
talking  with  you,  and  in  thinking  that  sometimes  our 
thoughts  meet  in  spite  of  the  space  that  separates  us.  .  .  . 
Remember  that  we  must  end  our  days  together.  It  is  but 
a  sad  gift  that  I  present  to  you,  —  the  remnant  of  my  life  : 
but  take  it;  and,  if  I  have  lost  some  time,  what  is  left  is 
of  greater  worth,  since  it  will  be  devoted  wholly  to  you. 

.  .  .  When  shall  I  rest  myself  near  you  ?  When  shall  I 
no  longer  waste  on  the  highways  those  days  lent  me  to  put 
to  a  better  use?  I  recklessly  squandered  them  while  I  was 
rich  ;  I  thought  the  treasure  inexhaustible.  Now,  when  I 
see  how  much  it  has  diminished,  how  little  time  there  is 
left  to  love  you,  my  anguish  is  great. 


MADAME  R  A  GAMIER. 


05 


“  But  are  tliere  not  long  years  beyond  the  tomb?  If  I 
had  the  philosophy  of  Cousin,  1  would  describe  to  you  that 
heaven,  where  I  shall  expect  you,  where  you  will  find  me 
again,  full  of  grace,  beauty,  and  youth.  Poor  and  hum¬ 
ble  Christian,  I  tremble  before  the  ‘Last  Judgment’  of 
Michael  Angelo.  I  know  not  where  my  future  abode  will 
be ;  but  if  it  is  where  you  are  not,  I  shall  be  very  un¬ 
happy.  .  .  . 

“  Never  forget  me  when  I  am  no  more.  I  shall  have  to 
leave  you  some  day.  I  will  go  to  await  you.  Perhaps  I 
shall  have  more  patience  in  the  other  life  than  in  this, 
where  I  find  three  months  without  you  of  immeasurable 
length.  ...  I  have  all  that  could  be  desired  in  the  way 
of  success,  in  kind  attentions,  and  cordial  welcome  ;  but  I 
am  more  than  ever  convinced  that  my  political  and  social 
life  is  at  an  end.  It  is  your  society,  united  with  the  most 
profound  retirement,  that  I  need  now.  I  am  only  occu¬ 
pied  with  one  thing,  —  my  health  ;  because  I  have  a  great 
desire  to  live  some  time  longer  for  your  sake.  .  .  .  Live 
long,  long  years,  so  that  there  shall  be  somebody  in  the 
world  who  thinks  of  me.” 

In  his  excavations  in  Torre  Vergata,  near  the  tomb  of 
Nero,  he  rvrote  her:  “  I  only  breathed  one  wish,  and  that 
was  for  you.  I  would  very  willingly  consent  to  live  with 
you,  under  a  tent,  in  the  midst  of  these  ruins.  .  .  .  The 
noise  of  my  steps  at  Torre  Vergata  will  awaken  no  one  ; 
and,  when  in  my  turn  I  am  in  my  grave,  I  shall  not  even 
hear  the  sound  of  your  voice.” 

Evidently  Chateaubriand  was  no  longer  the  proud,  self- 
willed  man  of  former  years.  “The  truth  is,”  he  wrote 
her,  “  that  you  have  metamorphosed  my  nature,  and  that 
I  no  longer  recognize  myself.” 

Upon  the  accession  of  Prince  Polignac  to  the  office  of 


96 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMAXHOOD. 


foreign  affairs,  Chateaubriand  resigned,  and  returned  to 
Paris.  From  the  Tiber  he  came  back  to  the  Rhone  ;  “to 
the  Rhone,”  he  wrote  Madame  Recamier,  “  whose  waves 
you  brightened  with  your  gaze  as  a  child.” 

In  the  year  1830,  France  was  again  distracted  by  the 
“  Revolution  of  the  three  days.”  On  the  2Hth  of  July  the 
king  issued  an  edict  putting  an  end  to  the  liberty  of  the 
press.  The  people  rose  in  rebellion,  and  he  was  obliged  to 
leave  France  with  his  little  grandson,  Henry  V.,  afterwards 
the  Count  de  Chambord,  the  child  of  the  murdered  Duke  de 
Berri.  Before  Louis  XVIII.  died,  he  put  his  hand  on  the 
head  of  his  four-year-old  great-nephew,  and  said  to  his 
brother:  “  Let  Charles  X.  take  care  of  the  crown  for  this 
child.”  But  Charles  could  not  believe  in  the  liberty  of  the 
people,  and  fell  by  his  own  acts. 

Chateaubriand  made  an  eloquent  speech  in  the  House  of 
Peers  against  the  exile  of  the  elder  branch  of  the  Bour¬ 
bons,  and  advocated  the  reign  of  the  little  Henry,  and  the 
appointment  of  a  regent,  but  the  people  favored  the  Duke 
of  Orleans,  descended  from  the  brother  of  Louis  XIV. 
Louis  Philippe  I.  became  the  head  of  a  limited  monarchy. 
Chateaubriand  relinquished  his  dignity  as  a  peer,  with  his 
honors  and  pensions,  and  retired  poor  to  private  life. 

This  year,  1830,  M.  Recamier  died,  nearly  eight)'  years 
old.  Becoming  ill,  he  wished  to  be  carried  to  the  Abbaye, 
and  there  he  died  in  his  wife’s  salon,  receiving  every. atten¬ 
tion  from  her  and  his  niece.  Her  father,  M.  Bernard, 
died  two  years  previously. 

The  following  summer  Madame  Recamier  went  to 
Dieppe  for  her  health,  and  the  next  year  to  Switzerland, 
where  she  and  Chateaubriand  visited  the  ivy-covered  grave 
of  Madame  de  Stael,  at  Coppet.  From  1834  Chateau¬ 
briand  devoted  himself  to  his  literary  work,  —  his  “Essay 


MADAME  RECAMIER. 


97 


oil  English  Literature,”  in  two  volumes,  his  “Translation 
of  Milton  ”  and  his  “  History  of  the  Congress  of  Verona,” 
in  two  volumes. 

Chateaubriand  sent  the  “Essay”  and  the  “Milton” 
to  Beranger,  who  was  greatly  pleased  with  the  courtesy, 
writing  back  :  “It  is  only  from  you  that  I  have  learned 
anything.  In  my  youth,  the  'Genius  of  Christianity’ 
taught  me  to  appreciate  the  great  works  of  antiquity ;  to¬ 
day,  thanks  to  you  again,  I  penetrate  into  English  litera¬ 
ture,  and  reconcile  myself  with  ‘Milton.’  .  .  .  Adieu, 
sir.  Still  give  some  thoughts  to  a  man  who  daily  remembers 
you,  and  who  will  never  cease  to  hope  that  your  happiness 
may  be  equal  to  your  glory.” 

Chateaubriand,  in  183G,  was  working  on  his  “  Memoirs,” 
which,  much  against  his  pride,  he  sold  during  his  life  that 
his  wife  might  have  enough  for  her  support.  “  Though  I 
have  no  heart  for  the  ‘  Memoirs  ’  after  I  have  finished 
what  relates  to  you,”  he  wrote  Madame  Recamier,  “  I 
will  accomplish  one  or  two  pages  a  day  while  I  live,  in 
order  to  fulfil  the  painful  conditions  of  my  bargain,  and 
to  wile  away  the  time  until  the  arrival  of  the  two  hours  I 
pass  with  you,  which  are  all  my  life.” 

Chateaubriand  came  every  day  to  the  Abbaye,  between 
two  and  three  in  the  afternoon.  For  an  hour  they  talked 
alone,  and  then  other  visitors  were  admitted. 

In  June,  1838,  he  made  a  journey  to  the  southern  prov¬ 
inces,  and  received  a  perfect  ovation  from  the  people ;  but 
he  hurried  home,  writing  Madame  Recamier:  “Women, 
men,  skies,  palm-trees,  are  not  worth  one  moment  passed 
in  your  sweet  presence.  Therein  lies  the  only  repose 
for  me.” 

So  disconsolate  was  he  when  Madame  Recamier  was 
absent  that  Madame  Chateaubriand  would  urge  her  return, 


!»8 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


saying  :  “  What  is  to  become  of  M.  Chateaubriand  ?  What 
is  he  going  to  do  if  you  stay  away  long?  ” 

With  failing  health,  Madame  Rc-camier  continued  her 
receptions  that  the  learned  and  the  great  might  meet  and 
comfort  Chateaubriand.  Alexis  de  Tocqueville,  the  noted 
author  of  “  Democracy  in  America,”  and  Saiute-Beuve 
came  often  to  the  Abbaye.  De  Tocqueville  was  a  relation 
of  Chateaubriand,  and  Madame  Recamier  was  especially 
drawn  to  him  because  he  had  married  through  affection. 

France,  as  ever,  was  disturbed  by  men  ambitious  to 
rule.  Prince  Louis  Napoleon,  the  son  of  Hortense,  had 
aspired  to  the  throne,  and  was  to  be  tried  by  the  Chamber 
of  Peers.  Madame  Recamier  visited  him  at  the  Concier- 
gerie.  He  was  condemned  to  imprisonment  for  life,  and 
was  shut  up  in  the  fortress  at  Ham.  Two  years  after¬ 
wards  he  sent  her  a  pamphlet,  which  he  had  just  pub¬ 
lished,  with  his  “  deep  gratitude,”  and  a  letter  enclosed 
to  Chateaubriand  :  — 

Some  twelve  years  ago,  while  walking  one  day  outside  of 
the  Portia  Pia,  at  Home,  I  followed  silently  the  Ambassador  of 
Charles  X.,  regretting  that  frigid  politics  prevented  me  from 
testifying  to  the  illustrious  author  of  the ‘•Genius  of  Chris¬ 
tianity  ”  all  my  admiration  for  him.  .  .  . 

I  want  to  write  the  history  of  Charlemagne,  and  show  the  in¬ 
fluence  this  great  man  exercised  on  the  destiny  of  the  world 
during  his  life  and  after  his  death.  When  I  shall  have  collected 
all  the  necessary  materials,  I  hope,  if  I  submit  to  you  some 
questions,  I  shall  not  trespass  upon  your  extreme  kindness. 

Receive,  Sir  Viscount,  the  assurance  of  my  high  esteem  and 
distinguished  consideration. 

Napoleon  Louis  Bonaparte. 

Iu  1840,  Victor  Hugo  wrote  Chateaubriand  :  “  After 
twenty-five  years,  there  remain  only  great  things  and 


MADAME  R£CAMIEE. 


99 


great  men,  —  Napoleon  and  Chateaubriand  ”  ;  and  dedi¬ 
cated  some  verses  to  him. 

Chateaubriand  wrote  back :  “No  matter  how  great  a 
man’s  fame  may  be,  I  shall  always  prefer  liberty  to 
glory.” 

This  year,  1840,  although  Madame  Recamier  was  in 
poor  health,  she  arranged  a  subscription-soiree  at  the 
Abbaye,  in  aid  of  suffering  in  her  native  city,  Lyons, 
caused  by  the  overflow  of  the  Rhone  and  the  Sabne.  The 
price  for  tickets  was  twenty  francs,  but  several  persons 
gave  five  times  that  amount.  Viardot,  Garcia,  Rubini, 
Rachel,  and  others,  gave  their  services.  In  less  than  ten 
days  nearly  five  thousand  francs  had  been  received.  At 
the  soiree  Madame  Recamier  was  called  the  most  beauti¬ 
ful  person  present,  and  she  was  then  sixty-three  years  of 
age. 

She  lost  her  bloom  as  she  grew  older,  but  she  never  lost 
the  extreme  winsomeness  of  her  smile,  her  childlike  inno¬ 
cence,  and  her  sincere,  gracious  manner. 

Sainte-Beuve  said  :  “  She  did  not  struggle.  She  re¬ 
signed  herself  gracefully  to  the  first  touch  of  Time.  She 
understood,  that  for  one  who  had  enjoyed  such  success  as 
a  beauty,  in  order  to  seem  yet  beautiful,  she  must  make 
no  pretensions.  A  friend,  who  had  not  seen  her  for  many 
years,  complimented  her  upon  her  looks.  ‘  Ah  !  my  dear 
friend,'  she  replied,  ‘  it  is  useless  for  me  to  deceive  my¬ 
self.  From  the  moment  I  noticed  that  the  little  Savoyards 
in  the  street  no  longer  turned  to  look  at  me,  I  knew  that 
all  was  over.’  ” 

Her  playful  wit,  her  even  temper,  her  constant  desire  to 
please,  never  changed.  She  had  perfect  ease  of  manner, 
but  a  horror  of  familiarity.  She  was  indulgent,  yet  firm. 
She  had  great  discretion  and  excellent  judgment.  While 


100 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMAXHOOD. 


sometimes  lacking  decision  in  small  matters,  she  never  did 
in  great  ones.  She  was  not  fond  of  domestic  details,  but 
managed  her  property  well. 

In  1843  Chateaubriand  was  induced  to  try  the  waters 
of  Bourbonne-les-Bains.  lie  wrote  pitifully  to  Madame 
Recamier:  “I  am  going  out  to  walk  with  the  lark;  she 
shall  sing  to  you  of  me  ;  then  she  will  be  silent  forever  in 
the  furrow  into  which  she  will  have  dropped.  ...  Is  it 
not  wonderful  the  sympathy  between  us?  I  think  exactly 
as  you  think.  ...  I  have  only  one  hope  graven  on  my 
heart,  and  that  is,  — to  see  you  again.” 

After  a  dictated  letter,  he  wrote  :  “  I  wish  to  finish  by 
two  words  in  my  own  writing,  to  prove  to  you  that  I  am 
still  living  for  you.  It  is  very  sad  to  be  reduced  to  this- 
.  .  .  You  see  how  my  poor  hand  trembles,  but  my  heart 
is  firm.” 

In  the  fall  of  1743,  Henry,  the  Count  de  Chambord, 
asked  Chateaubriand  to  visit  him  in  London.  He  could 
not  help  responding  to  the  call  of  his  young  prince. 

He  dictated  a  letter  from  London  to  Madame  Recamier  : 
“  I  have  just  received  the  recompense  of  all  my  life.  The 
prince  has  deigned  to  speak  of  me,  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd 
of  Frenchmen,  with  an  enthusiasm  worthy  of  his  youth.  If 
I  had  the  gift  of  description,  I  would  give  you  the  details 
of  it;  but  I  shed  tears  over  it,  like  a  fool.”  Thus  devoted 
was  the  aged  man  to  the  Bourbon  dynasty.  In  the  spring 
of  1845  he  visited  the  count  at  Venice,  for  the  last  time. 
Chateaubriand  said:  “I  am  a  Bourbonist  in  honor;  a 
Monarchist  on  grounds  of  rational  conviction  ;  but  in  nat¬ 
ural  character  and  disposition,  I  am  still  a  Republican.” 

In  1839,  six  years  previously,  a  cataract  began  to  form 
on  one  of  Madame  Recamier’s  eyes.  She  was  treated  iu 
1845  for  it,  but  without  beuefit.  It  was  decided  to  per- 


MADAME  R&CAMIETt. 


101 


form  an  operation  in  the  summer  of  184G,  but  Chateau¬ 
briand  having  broken  his  collar  bone  in  stepping  from  his 
carriage,  Madame  Recamier  wished  to  postpone  the  matter 
till  he  had  recovered. 

He  was  never  able  to  walk  after  the  accident.  When  he 
came  to  the  Abbaye,  he  was  carried  to  an  arm-chair  which 
was  placed  by  the  fireplace. 

In  February,  1847,  Madame  Chateaubriand  died,  after 
a  brief  illness.  Ballanche  was  soon  taken  ill,  and  lodged 
opposite  the  Abbaye.  As  Madame  Recamier  had  just  sub¬ 
mitted  to  an  operation  upon  her  eyes  by  an  able  surgeon, 
Ballanche  would  not  consent  that  she  should  cross  the 
street  in  the  bright  light.  She  would  not  be  refused,  how¬ 
ever,  and  stayed  by  his  bedside  till  his  death,  “losing  in 
tears  every  chance  of  recovering  her  sight,”  says  her 
niece.  He  was  buried  in  her  family  tomb. 

A  few  months  after  the  death  of  his  wife,  Chateaubriand 
begged  Madame  Recamier  to  honor  his  name  bv  marriage, 
but  she  refused.  “Why  should  we  marry?”  she  said; 
“at  our  age,  there  can  be  no  impropriety  in  my  taking 
care  of  you.  If  solitude  is  painful  to  you,  I  am  ready  to 
live  in  the  same  house  with  you.  The  world,  I  am  cer¬ 
tain,  will  do  justice  to  the  purity  of  our  friendship,  and 
sanction  anything  that  will  render  the  task  of  making 
you,  in  your  old  age,  happy  and  comfortable,  more  easy 
for  me.  If  we  were  younger,  I  should  not  hesitate,  but 
accept  with  joy  the  right  to  consecrate  my  life  to  you. 
Years  and  blindness  have  given  me  this  right.  Let  us 
change  nothing  in  so  perfect  an  affection.” 

Chateaubriand  could  not  console  himself  for  her  refusal, 
though  he  acknowledged  that  she  was  right. 

She  submitted  to  a  second  operation  on  the  other  eye, 
but  it  was  unsuccessful.  Her  hearing  was  acute,  and  those 


102 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


who  did  not  know  that  she  was  blind  were  unconscious  of 
it,  from  her  recognizing  persons  by  their  voices,  and  the 
unchanged  brilliancy  of  her  eyes.  She  lamented  her 
blindness  because  it  made  her  less  useful  to  her  friends. 

In  February,  1848,  France  was  again  in  revolution, 
and  Louis  Philippe  went  into  exile  as  his  predecessor  had 
gone. 

Chateaubriand  died  three  months  later,  July  4,  1848. 
His  last  illness  was  but  for  a  few  days.  Every  time  that 
Madame  Recamier  left  the  room,  overcome  with  grief,  his 
eyes  followed  her  with  an  agonized  expression  as  though 
he  might  not  see  her  again,  but  she  could  not  see  these 
looks.  He  asked  for  and  received  the  Sacrament,  never 
speaking  afterwards,  and  dying  with  his  steadfast  gaze 
fixed  upon  her.  He  had  written  her  eleven  years  before  : 
“  Never  talk  of  what  is  to  become  of  me  without  you ;  I 
have  not  done  so  much  evil  in  the  sight  of  Heaven  that 
you  should  be  called  away  before  me.  ...  It  is  I,  re¬ 
member,  who  must  go  first.”  And  his  wish  was  gratified. 

He  was  buried  in  a  granite  rock  on  a  little  island, 
Grand  Bey,  near  his  birthplace,  St.  Malo,  where  the  At- 
lantic  Ocean  chants  a  dirge  for  him  in  the  strains  which 
seemed  so  mournful  to  him  when  a  lonely  boy.  He  then 
imagined  that  a  beautiful  being  stood  beside  him,  and  he 
used  to  go  into  the  woods  to  worship  his  “  Sylphide.” 
He  found  her  in  real  life  wrhen  it  was  too  late.  In  1875, 
on  the  one  hundredth  and  seventh  anniversary  of  his 
birth,  a  statue  was  erected  to  Iris  memory  at  St.  Malo, 
by  his  admiring  countrymen. 

Madame  Recamier  shed  no  tears  at  Chateaubriand’s 
death.  A  strange  pallor  came  over  her  face  and  never 
left  it.  She  was  calm,  and  thanked  her  friends  for  atten¬ 
tions,  but  it  was  evident  that  she  would  soon  follow  him. 


MADAME  RliCAMIER. 


103 


She  talked  of  Ballancke  and  Chateaubriand  as  though 
they  were  only  absent  for  a  moment,  and  when  the  hour 
came  on  which  they  were  wont  to  visit  her,  she  would 
tremble  as  though  they  had  appeared  to  her  in  person. 

Eight  months  passed.  She  had  left  the  Abbaye  and 
gone  to  live  at  the  home  of  her  niece.  On  May  10,  1849, 
while  dressing  for  dinner,  she  fainted.  A  physician  was 
called  and  pronounced  her  disease  cholera,  which  she  had 
always  feared. 

For  twelve  hours  she  suffered  intensely,  bearing  her 
pain  with  the  utmost  courage  and  sweetness.  “We  shall 
meet  again !  We  shall  meet  again  !  ”  she  said  to  her 
niece,  and  when  she  could  no  longer  speak,  she  raised 
her  lips  to  be  kissed.  At  midnight  she  called  for  Ampere 
and  her  two  nephews,  Paul  David  and  Charles  Lenormant. 
They  came,  and  she  said  farewell  as  though  for  the  night. 
She  died  the  following  day,  May  1 1 . 

After  death  she  seemed  more  beautiful  than  ever,  with 
an  angelic  expression.  She  died  as  she  had  lived,  beloved 
by  all  who  knew  her.  If  some  women’s  hearts  had  ached 
because  of  her,  as  Sainte-Beuve  says,  “which  she  sacri¬ 
ficed  and  wounded  without  knowing  it,”  it  must  be  remem¬ 
bered  that  she  lived  in  a  different  country  from  ours  and 
that  her  loveless  marriage  and  that  of  Chateaubriand  as 
well,  were  most  unfortunate. 

What  was  the  secret  of  her  power? 

She  made  no  enemies.  She  appreciated  the  good  in 
each  and  drew  ont  the  best.  She  was  never  censorious  or 
indifferent  or  frivolous.  She  never  lost  a  friend.  She 
praised  where  it  was  deserved,  and  inspired  all  to  their 
utmost  endeavor.  She  won  confidence.  She  was  abso¬ 
lutely  true  to  friends,  —  sincere,  natural,  and  universally 
kind. 


104 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


She  was  so  intelligent  as  to  be  companionable  with  the 
brightest  minds  of  France.  She  enjoyed  philosophy  with 
Ballanche,  science  with  Ampere,  and  politics,  history,  and 
poetry  with  Chateaubriand.  She  read  Tacitus,  Thiers, 
and  Mignet,  and  collected  historical  matter  for  Chateau¬ 
briand’s  works. 

She  was  an  interested  listener.  She  rested  people  by 
her  repose  of  manner,  and  cheered  them  by  her  good  na¬ 
ture  and  freedom  from  envy.  She  was  extremely  gentle, 
yet  dignified,  with  a  low,  sweet  voice.  Aside  from  her 
beauty,  she  had  the  transcendent  charm  of  self-sacrifice. 
She  lived  for  others. 

Lamartine,  in  speaking  of  her,  said  :  “  Her  whose  an¬ 
gelic  face  could  bear  no  other  name,  and  of  whom  it  was 
said  that  one  look  sufficed  to  bind  your  heart  to  her 
forever.” 

Sainte-Beuve  said  :  “  France  can  never  forget  her  ”  ;  and 
he  might  have  said,  “  the  world.” 


SUSANNA  WESLEY. 


SUSANNA  WESLEY. 


ONE  of  the  extremely  interesting  places  in  London 
is  Bunhill  Fields,  completely  filled  with  graves,  a 
quiet,  suggestive  spot  in  the  midst  of  the  commotion  of 
a  great  city.  John  Bunyan  has  been  long  sleeping  there. 
Close  to  his  grave  is  one  beside  which  thousands  have 
stood,  and  will  stand,  in  the  years  to  come.  It  is  the 
grave  of  the  mother  of  John  Wesley. 

Here  he  preached  at  her  death  one  of  his  most  eloquent 
and  impressive  sermons.  She  was  his  companion,  his 
guide,  his  ideal  woman.  He  hoped  he  might  find  one  like 
her  in  marriage,  but  he  failed.  He  hoped  he  might  not 
survive  her,  but  he  was  spared  many  years  to  do  his  won¬ 
derful  work.  She  was,  says  Isaac  Taylor,  “  the  mother 
of  Methodism  in  a  religious  and  moral  sense ;  for,  her 
courage,  her  submissiveness  to  authority,  the  high  tone  of 
■her  mind,  its  independence  and  its  self-control,  the  warmth 
of  her  devotional  feelings,  and  the  practical  direction  given 
to  them,  came  up  and  were  visibly  repeated  in  the  charac¬ 
ter  and  conduct  of  her  son.” 

She  was  the  twenty-fifth,  and  youngest,  child  of  Dr. 
Samuel  Annesley  by  his  second  wife,  and  was  born  in 
London,  Jan.  20,  1669.  Dr.  Annesley  was  an  able  and 
prominent  dissenting  minister,  dignified  and  handsome, 
closely  related  to  the  Earl  of  Anglesey.  Mrs.  Annesley 
was  a  lovely  woman,  the  daughter  of  a  member  of  parlia- 


lOfi 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


meat,  who  was  also  one  of  the  Westminster  Assembly  of 
divines.  Susanna  was  always  a  favorite  with  her  father, 
who  gave  every  attention  to  her  education.  “  Greek, 
Latin,  and  French,  and  both  logic  and  metaphysics,  had 
formed  part  of  her  studies,”  says  Ur.  Adam  Clarke. 
She  was  deeply  interested  in  the  absorbing  religious 
discussions  of  the  day.  Though  her  father  was  a  Noncon¬ 
formist,  she  was  permitted  to  think  for  herself,  and  joined 
the  Church  of  England  when  she  was  thirteen.  In  these 
early  years  a  youth,  Samuel  Wesley,  six  and  a  half  years 
older  than  herself,  visited  at  the  Annesley  home.  His 
father  was  the  Rev.  John  Wesley,  and  his  grandfather  the 
Rev.  Bartholomew  Wesley.  They  were  related  to  the 
Duke  of  Wellington,  Sir  Robert  Ker  Porter  and  his  sisters, 
the  novelists,  and  other  distinguished  persons. 

When  Samuel  was  sixteen,  his  father  died,  leaving  his 
widow  and  children  in  very  poor  circumstances.  Several 
persons  contributed  thirty  pounds  a  year,  and  sent  the  lad 
to  school  in  London,  where  he  met  Susanna  Annesley, 
and,  doubtless,  enjoyed  her  bright  conversation,  and  ad¬ 
mired  her  beauty. 

At  twenty-one,  he,  too,  left  the  Nonconformists  and 
joined  the  Church  of  England ;  possibly  he  had  influenced 
Susanna  in  her  choice. 

Determined  to  study  and  enter  the  ministry,  he  walked 
to  Oxford  one  August  morning,  in  1683,  with  a  little  over 
two  pounds  in  his  pocket,  and  entered  Exeter  College.  He 
maintained  himself  by  teaching  and  some  literary  work, 
and  after  graduation  became  a  curate  in  London,  with  an 
income  of  thirty  pounds  a  year.  This  he  doubled  by  writ¬ 
ing,  and  on  sixty  pounds  a  j-ear  the  young  couple  —  Sam¬ 
uel,  twenty-seven,  and  Susanna,  twenty  —  began  their 
married  life  in  London  lodgings  in  1689. 


■SUSANNA  WESLEY. 


107 


It  must  have  required  great  faith  to  marry  on  this  in¬ 
come  ;  it  required  something  more  than  faith  in  the  years 
of  privation  which  followed.  The  young  husband  was  an 
untiring  student,  a  man  of  cheerful  nature,  and  devoted  to 
his  work.  The  wife  was  a  person  of  fine  manners  and  un¬ 
common  beauty.  Dr.  Adam  Clarke  says  :  “  She  was  uot 
only  graceful  but  beautiful  in  person.  Her  sister,  Judith, 
painted  by  Sir  Peter  Lely,  is  represented  as  a  very  beauti¬ 
ful  woman.  One  who  well  knew  both  said,  ‘  Beautiful  as 
Miss  Annesley  appears,  she  was  far  from  being  as  beauti¬ 
ful  as  Mrs.  Wesley.’  ” 

The  Marquis  of  Normandy  heard  of  the  poverty  of  the 
young  minister,  and  obtained  for  him  the  position  of  rec¬ 
tor  at  South  Ormsby,  where  the  salary  was  fifty  pounds  a 
year,  instead  of  thirty.  Mr.  Wesley  was  not  preaching 
for  money ;  but  having  a  son  four  months  old,  named 
Samuel,  after  himself,  added  to  his  family,  he  looked  upon 
the  tweuty  pounds’  increase  as  a  great  blessing. 

They  left  London  with  its  activities,  its  libraries,  and 
its  cultivated  people  for  the  little  parish  of  thirty-six 
houses  and  two  hundred  and  sixty  persons,  at  South 
Ormsby.  Mr.  Wesley  tried  to  make  the  best  of  it,  and 
found  expression  for  his  loneliness  in  verse  :  — 

“  In  a  mean  cot,  composed  of  reeds  and  clay, 

Wasting  in  sighs  the  uncomfortable  day; 

Near  where  the  inhospitable  Humber  roars, 

Devouring  by  degrees  the  neighboring  shores. 

Let  earth  go  where  it  will,  I  ’ll  uot  repine, 

Nor  can  unhappy  be,  while  Heaven  is  mine.” 

The  next  year,  in  1691,  a  little  girl  was  born  to  the 
Wesleys,  but  died  two  years  later.  In  January,  1692, 
Km  ilia  was  born,  and  in  1694  twin  boys,  Annesley  and 


108 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Jedediali,  who  died  in  infancy.  A  few  months  after  their 
death  another  little  girl  was  born,  named  Susanna ;  and 
then  Mary,  who,  through  a  fall,  became  deformed  and 

ill. 

Mrs.  Wesley’s  life  was  already  full  of  cares.  Three 
children  had  died,  and  of  the  four  who  were  living,  one 
was  continually  ill,  while  the  mother,  a  slight,  frail  woman, 
was  not  yet  twenty-seven  years  of  age. 

Besides  his  parish  work,  Mr.  Wesley  was  writing  his 
heroic  poem  in  ten  books,  on  “  The  Life  of  our  Blessed 
Lord  and  Saviour,  Jesus  Christ.”  The  work  was  dedi¬ 
cated  to  Queen  Mary,  l’ope  and  others  pronounced  it 
“  intolerably  dull,”  but  it  went  through  a  second  edition. 
It  was  probably  of  little  pecuniary  help  to  the  beautiful 
wife  and  four  children. 

Mr.  Wesley  thus  describes  his  wife  in  the  volume  :  — 

“  She  graced  my  humble  roof  and  blest  my  life, 

Blest  me  by  a  far  greater  name  than  wife ; 

Yet  still  I  bore  an  undisputed  sway, 

Nor  was ’t  her  task,  but  pleasure,  to  obey. 

Scarce  thought,  much  less  could  act,  what  I  denied. 

In  our  low  house  there  was  no  room  for  pride  • 

Nor  need  I  e’er  direct  what  still  was  right, 

She  studied  my  convenience  and  delight : 

Nor  did  I  for  her  care  ungrateful  prove, 

But  only  used  my  power  to  show  my  love  : 

Whate’er  she  asked  I  gave  without  reproach  or  grudge, 

For  still  she  reason  asked  and  I  was  judge.” 

As  Mrs.  Wesley  was  a  person  of  very  strong  will,  and 
could  not  have  been  the  grand  woman  that  she  was  with¬ 
out  it,  perhaps  the  “undisputed  sway”  was  somewhat 
imaginary,  but  seeming  real  to  him  was  doubtless  com¬ 
forting. 


SUSANNA  WESLEY. 


109 


In  the  latter  part  of  1696,  Dr.  Annesley  died,  and  Mrs. 
Wesley  sincerely  mourned  her  gifted  father,  but  believing 
in  the  communion  of  departed  spirits  with  those  left  on 
earth,  she  found  great  consolation  in  the  thought  that  he 
was  always  near  his  favorite  child. 

Early  in  1697  the  Wesleys  removed  to  Epworth,  a 
small  market  town  of  two  thousand  inhabitants.  It  is 
said  that  Queen  Mary,  not  forgetting  the  dedication  of 
the  life  of  Christ,  shortly  before  her  last  illness  expressed 
a  wish  that  Mr.  Wesley  should  have  the  living  of  Epworth, 
worth  two  hundred  pounds. 

The  house  was  of  timber  and  plaster,  three  stories  high 
and  thatched  with  straw,  with  large  grounds  attached. 
Mr.  Wesley  determined  to  farm  his  own  glebe,  and  there¬ 
fore  purchased  oxen  and  the  necessary  farming  imple¬ 
ments.  He  was  in  debt  already,  and  was  obliged  to 
borrow  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  to  furnish  the 
house,  move  his  family,  and  begin  life  in  the  new  parish. 
These  debts  he  was  never  able  to  cancel,  and  they  proved 
the  intolerable  burden  of  his  life. 

Soon  after  the  family  were  settled,  Mehetabel  was  born  ; 
the  next  year  the  ninth  child,  which  soon  died,  and  in  the 
two  years  following,  John  and  Benjamin,  both  of  whom 
died  in  infancy. 

In  May,  1701,  poverty,  even  worse  than  usual,  stared 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wesley  in  the  face.  The  latter  was  feeble, 
and  often  confined  to  her  bed  for  six  months  at  a  time. 
Writing  poetry  for  London  publishers  brought  little  re¬ 
muneration.  Coal  was  needed,  and  the  last  six  shillings 
were  used  to  buy  it. 

It  is  probable  that  the  parishioners  did  not  inquire 
whether  the  rector  had  any  money  in  his  pocket  so  long 
as  he  preached  the  gospel  regularly.  Fortunately,  Arch- 


110 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


bishop  Sharpe  heard  of  their  poverty,  spoke  to  several  of 
the  nobility  about  it,  and  even  appealed  to  the  House  of 
Lords. 

The  Countess  of  Northampton,  moved  to  pity,  sent 
twenty  pounds  to  the  family,  ten  of  which  Mr.  Wesley 
gave  to  his  own  widowed  mother.  The  money  was  re¬ 
ceived  in  both  families  with  thanksgiving. 

That  evening,  May  16,  a  boy  and  a  girl  were  born  in 
the  Wesley  home,  but  soon  died,  and  the  next  year,  1702, 
Annie  was  born. 

The  children  must  be  educated ;  but  how  ?  There  was 
no  money  for  schooling,  and  Mr.  Wesley  had  little  time 
to  spare  from  his  church  and  his  writing.  The  educated 
but  delicate  mother  must  do  it. 

She,  therefore,  began  her  household  school,  and  for  six 
hours  a  day  through  twenty  years  she  continued  it.  When 
her  son  John  had  become  a  noted  man,  he  begged  her  to 
write  some  details  of  the  education  of  her  children,  to 
which  she  reluctantly  consented.  She  said,  “  No  one 
can,  without  renouncing  the  world  in  the  most  literal 
sense,  observe  my  method  ;  and  there  are  few,  if  any, 
that  would  devote  above  twenty  years  of  the  prime  of 
life  in  hopes  to  save  the  souls  of  their  children,  which 
they  think  may  be  saved  without  so  much  ado ;  for  that 
was  my  principal  intention,  however  unskilfully  and  un¬ 
successfully  managed.” 

The  children  were  early  taught  to  obey,  and  to  cry 
softly.”  A  child  was  never  allowed  to  have  a  thing 
because  he  cried  for  it,  aud  John  Wesley  used  to  empha¬ 
size  this  in  his  talks  to  parents,  urging  that  if  a  child 
obtained  a  thing  because  he  cried,  that  he  would  cry 
again.  Mrs.  Wesley  says,  “  That  most  odious  noise  of 
the  crying  of  children  was  rarely  heard  in  the  house.” 


SUSANNA  WESLEY. 


Ill 


One  cannot  help  wishing  that  Mrs.  Wesley  had  lived  on 
through  the  centuries  to  teach  this  doctrine. 

“  Drinking  or  eating  between  meals  was  never  allowed,” 
she  says ;  “  unless  in  case  of  sickness,  which  seldom  hap¬ 
pened.  ...  At  six,  as  soon  as  family  prayer  was  over, 
they  had  their  supper ;  at  seven  the  maid  washed  them, 
and,  beginning  at  the  youngest,  she  undressed  and  got 
them  all  to  bed  by  eight,  at  which  time  she  left  them  in 
their  several  rooms  awake,  for  there  was  no  such  thing 
allowed  of  in  our  house  as  sitting  by  a  child  till  it  fell 
asleep.” 

The  children  were  taught  never  to  address  each  other 
without  prefixing  “  brother”  or  “  sister,”  a  fashion  which 
John  Wesley  followed  through  life,  as  indeed  he  did  thou¬ 
sands  of  things  taught  him  by  his  mother.  Her  will  was 
law  with  him,  her  letters  through  college  his  oracles,  her 
life  his  blessed  example. 

With  great  firmness  she  combined  great  patience.  Once, 
when  she  repeated  the  same  thing  to  one  child  twenty 
times,  her  husband  said,  “I  wonder  at  your  patience; 
you  have  told  that  child  twenty  times  that  same  thing.” 

“  If  I  had  satisfied  myself  by  mentioning  it  only  nine¬ 
teen  times,”  she  replied,  “  I  should  have  lost  all  my  labor. 
It  was  the  twentieth  time  that  crowned  it.” 

Psalms  were  sung  every  morning  and  night  at  the  open¬ 
ing  and  the  closing  of  school.  Each  elder  child  took  a 
younger  one  morning  and  evening,  and  read  a  chapter  in 
the  Bible  with  him  or  her,  after  which  each  went  to  pri¬ 
vate  devotions.  As  soon  as  they  could  speak  the  Lord’s 
Prayer  was  taught  them. 

They  were  to  be  courteous  in  all  things  ;  a  servant  was 
never  allowed  to  grant  a  favor  unless  the  child  said,  “Pray 
give  me  such  a  thing.”  If  a  child  confessed  a  fault  and 


112 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


promised  to  reform,  he  was  not  punished.  “  This  rule,” 
says  Mrs.  Wesley,  “  prevented  a  great  deal  of  lying.” 
Nor  was  he  ever  reminded  of  it  afterwards.  Acts  of  obe. 
dience  were  commended.  Mrs.  Wesley  had  learned  early 
that  the  world  forgets  to  commend,  but  rarely  forgets  to 
blame.  No  one  could  take  the  property  of  another,  even 
to  the  value  of  a  pin.  Every  promise  must  be  strictly 
observed,  and  a  gift  once  bestowed  could  not  be  taken 
back.  The  children  were  not  taught  to  read  till  they  were 
five  years  old,  and  then  the  letters  and  small  words  were 
learned  from  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis. 

In  1702  Mr.  Wesley  had  published  his  “History  of  the 
Old  and  New  Testament  attempted  in  verse,  and  adorned 
with  three  hundred  and  thirty  sculptures,”  but  for  this 
money  failed  to  flow  in  as  he  had  expected.  lie  there¬ 
fore  went  on  horseback  to  London  and  appealed  in  vari¬ 
ous  quarters  for  aid.  The  Dean  of  Exeter  gave  him  ten 
pounds,  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  ten  guineas,  and 
others  to  the  amount  of  sixty  pounds.  Possibly  these 
were  subscriptions  previously  promised. 

He  had  been  home  but  a  short  time  when  his  house  took 
fire.  He  wrote  to  Archbishop  Sharpe,  “He  that’s  born 
to  be  a  poet  must,  I  am  afraid,  live  and  die  poor;  for  on 
the  last  of  July,  1702,  a  fire  broke  out  in  my  house  by 
some  sparks  which  took  hold  of  the  thatch  this  dry  time, 
and  consumed  about  two  thirds  of  it  before  it  could  be 
quenched.  ...  1  got  one  of  his  horses  [a  sick  neigh¬ 

bor’s,  whom  he  was  visiting],  rode  up,  and  heard  by  the 
way  that  my  wife,  children,  and  books  were  saved,  for 
which  God  be  praised,  as  well  as  for  what  He  has  taken. 

“  I  find ’t  is  some  happiness  to  have  been  miserable,  for 
my  mind  has  been  so  blunted  with  former  misfortunes  that 
this  scarce  made  any  impression  upon  me.” 


SUSANNA  WESLEY. 


113 


The  house  was  rebuilt  with  great  difficulty.  A  fifteenth 
child  was  born  into  the  home  June  17,  1703,  old  style, 
or  June  28,  new  style,  and  this  was  John  Wesley,  the 
founder  of  Methodism. 

A  few  weeks  later  Mr.  Wesley’s  crop  of  flax  was  set  on 
fire,  perhaps  by  some  incendiary.  As  that  was  a  day  of 
theological  conflicts,  and  Mr.  Wesley  was  not  disinclined 
to  be  belligerent  with  his  pen,  he  doubtless  made  some 
enemies. 

Samuel,  the  first  born,  had  been  sent  to  Westminster 
School,  where  he  became  distinguished  for  scholarship. 
II is  fond  mother  wrote  him  long  letters,  chiefly  about 
religion,  asking  him  to  preserve  them  till  he  was  older  and 
could  better  understand  them.  He  seems  to  have  con¬ 
fided  in  her.  Would  not  anybody  in  such  a  mother?  She 
writes  :  “  If  you  have  wasted  or  misemployed  your  time, 
take  more  care  of  what  remains.  If  in  anything  you  want 
counsel  or  advice,  speak  freely  to  me,  and  I  will  gladly 
assist  37ou.  I  commit  you  to  God’s  protection.  ...  If 
you  can,  possibly,  set  apart  the  hours  of  Sunday,  in  the 
afternoon,  from  four  to  six  for  this  employment  [prayer 
and  meditation],  which  time  I  have  also  determined  to  the 
same  work.  May  that  Infinite  Being,  whose  we  are,  and 
whom  I  hope  we  endeavor  to  serve  and  love,  accept  us  and 
bless  us.  .  .  .  I  think  your  health  and  studies  require  that 
you  should  take  a  pretty  deal  of  exercise.  You  know 
whether  your  heart  be  too  much  set  upon  it.  If  it  be,  I 
will  tell  you  what  rule  I  observed  in  the  same  case  when  I 
was  young  and  much  addicted  to  childish  diversions,  which 
was  this  :  never  to  spend  more  time  in  any  matter  of 
recreation  in  one  day  than  I  spent  in  private  religious 
duties.” 

Again,  she  writes  :  “  1  would  advise  you,  as  much  as 


114 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


possible  in  your  present  circumstances,  to  throw  your 
business  into  a  certain  method,  by  which  means  you  will 
learn  to  improve  every  precious  moment,  and  find  an  un¬ 
speakable  facility  in  the  performance  of  your  respective 
duties.  .  .  .  Appoint  so  much  time  for  sleep,  eating,  com¬ 
pany,  etc.,  but  above  all  things,  my  dear  Sammy,  I  com¬ 
mand  you,  I  beg,  I  beseech  you,  to  be  very  strict  in 
observing  the  Lord’s  Day.  In  all  things  endeavor  to  act 
on  principle,  and  do  not  live  like  the  rest  of  mankind,  who 
pass  through  the  world  like  straws  upon  a  river,  which 
are  carried  which  ivay  the  stream  or  wind  drives  them. 
....  I  am  sorry  that  you  lie  under  a  necessity  of  con¬ 
versing  with  those  that  are  none  of  the  best ;  but  we  must 
take  the  world  as  we  find  it,  since  it  is  a  happiness  per¬ 
mitted  to  a  very  few  to  choose  their  company.” 

She  writes  him  as  “  the  sou  of  my  tenderest  love,  my 
friend,  in  whom  is  my  inexpressible  delight,  my  future 
hope  of  happiness  in  this  world,  for  whom  I  weep  and 
pray  in  my  retirements  from  the  world,  when  no  mortal 
knows  the  agonies  of  my  soul  on  your  account,  no  eyes 
see  my  tears,  which  are  only  beheld  by  that  Father  of 
Spirits  of  whom  I  so  importunately  beg  grace  for  you  that 
I  hope  I  may  at  last  be  heard.” 

Mr.  Wesley  writes  earnest  letters  to  his  beloved  Samuel, 
and  speaks  thus  beautifully  of  his  noble  wife  :  “  You  will, 
I  verily  believe,  remember  that  these  obligations  of  grati¬ 
tude,  love,  and  obedience,  and  the  expressions  of  them,  are 
not  confined  to  your  tender  years,  but  must  last  to  the 
very  close  of  your  life,  and  even  after  that  render  her 
memory  most  dear  and  precious  to  you.  .  .  .  You  will 
endeavor  to  repay  her  prayers  for  you  by  doubling  yours 
for  her,  as  ’.veil  as  your  fervency  in  them  ;  and,  above  all 
things,  to  live  such  a  virtuous  and  religious  life  that  she 


SUSANNA  WESLEY. 


115 


may  find  that  her  care  and  love  have  not  been  lost  upon 
you,  but  that  we  may  all  meet  in  heaven. 

“In  short,  reverence  and  love  her  as  much  as  you  will, 
which  I  hope  will  be  as  much  as  you  can.  For  though  I 
should  be  jealous  of  any  other  rival  in  your  heart,  yet  I 
will  not  be  of  her ;  the  more  duty  you  pay  her,  and  the 
more  frequently  and  kindly  you  write  to  her,  the  more  you 
will  please  your  affectionate  father.” 

The  Epworth  household  went  on  as  usual,  except  that 
financial  matters  were  growing  worse.  Hard-working  Mr. 
Wesley  had  written  a  poem  of  nearly  six  hundred  lines, 
“  Marlborough,  or  the  Fate  of  Europe,”  on  the  duke  who 
had  gained  the  battle  of  Blenheim,  August,  1704. 

The  faithful  Archbishop  Sharpe  showed  the  poem  to  the 
duke,  who  appointed  Mr.  Wesley  to  the  chaplaincy  of  Col. 
Lepelle’s  regiment,  but  the  Whigs  gaining  a  victory  in  pol¬ 
itics  soon  after,  the  rector  was  deprived  of  the  chaplaincy, 
and  insulted  by  a  mob  on  account  of  his  Tory  sympathies. 
They  fired  pistols  about  his  house,  and  under  the  window 
where  his  wife  lay  ill.  Her  infant  of  three  weeks  old  had 
been  carried  across  the  street  to  a  nurse,  who,  broken  of 
her  rest  by  the  disturbance,  smothered  the  child  when  she 
fell  asleep ;  and  then,  nearly  crazed  by  the  accident,  car¬ 
ried  it  dead  to  the  arms  of  its  mother. 

Brave  Susanna  Wesley  bore  all  these  things  well ;  for 
iier  husband  writes  to  the  archbishop,  “All  this,  thank 
(i od,  does  not  in  the  least  sink  my  wife’s,  spirits.  For 
my  own,  I  feel  them  disturbed  and  disordered.” 

Other  troubles  soon  followed.  Mr.  Wesley  owed  some 
money  to  one  of  the  persons  whom  he  had  angered  in  the 
recent  election,  was  arrested  and  sent  to  Lincoln  jail.  The 
archbishop,  in  deep  sympathy,  wrote  asking  how  much  he 
owed.  Mr.  Wesley  replied,  “  Three  hundred  pounds  ”  ; 


116 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


but  he  cheerfully  adds,  “  I  hope  to  rise  again,  as  I  have 
always  done,  when  at  the  lowest,  and  I  think  I  cannot  be 
much  lower  now.” 

While  in  jail  he  devoted  himself  to  his  companions,  and 
wrote  Archbishop  Sharpe  :  “  I  don’t  despair  of  doing  some 
good  here  (and  so  long  I  sha’n’t  lose  quite  the  end  of  liv¬ 
ing),  and,  it  may  be,  do  more  in  this  parish  than  in  my 
old  one,  for  I  have  leave  to  read  prayers  every  morning 
and  afternoon  here  in  the  prison,  and  to  preach  once  a 
Sunday,  which  I  choose  to  do  in  the  afternoon,  when 
there  is  no  sermon  at  the  minster.  And  I  am  getting 
acquainted  with  my  brother  jail-birds  as  fast  as  I  can,  and 
shall  write  to  London,  next  post,  to  the  Society  for  Prop¬ 
agating  Christian  Knowledge,  who,  I  hope,  will  send  me 
some  books  to  distribute  among  them.”  The  cows  on  his 
farm  w  ere  mutilated,  and  also  his  house-dog,  because  he 
barked ;  but  Mr.  Wesley  adds,  “  ’T  is  not  every  one  wrho 
could  bear  these  things,  but  1  bless  God  my  wife  is  less 
concerned  with  suffering  them  than  I  am  in  the  writing,  or 
than  I  believe  your  grace  will  be  in  reading  them.” 

The  Archbishop  of  York  wTent  to  see  Mrs.  Wesley,  and 
said,  “Tell  me,  Mrs.  Wesley,  whether  you  ever  really 
wanted  bread.” 

“  My  lord,”  said  she,  “  I  will  freely  own  to  your  grace 
that,  strictly  speaking,  I  never  did  want  bread.  But  then 
I  had  so  much  care  to  get  it  before  it  was  eat,  and  to  pay 
for  it  after,  as  has  often  made  it  very  unpleasant  to  me. 
And  I  think  to  have  bread  on  such  terms  is  the  next 
degree  of  wretchedness  to  having  none  at  all.” 

“You  are  certainly  right,”  said  the  archbishop,  and 
gave  her  a  generous  sum  of  money. 

Mr.  Wesley  remained  in  prison  for  three  months.  His 
heart  must  have  been  touched  when  his  wife  sent  him  her 


SUSANNA  WESLEY. 


117 


rings  to  help  cancel  the  debt,  “because  she  had  nothing 
else  to  relieve  me  with,”  he  says.  But  he  returned  them. 
Finally,  several  persons  raised  money  enough  to  pay  half 
the  debts;  and  Mr.  Wesley  joyfully  writes,  “I  feel  I 
walk  a  deal  lighter,  and  hope  1  shall  sleep  better  now 
these  sums  are  paid.  ...  I  am  a  bad  beggar,  and  worse 
at  returning  formal  thanks,  but  I  can  pray  heartily  for  my 
benefactors.”  He  returned  to  his  rejoicing  family. 

In  the  latter  part  of  1706  another  child  was  born,  Mar¬ 
tha,  who  closely  resembled  John,  both  in  looks  and  char¬ 
acter.  On  Dec.  18,  1707,  Mrs.  Wesley’s  eighteenth  child 
was  born,  Charles,  whose  hymns  have  been  the  delight  of 
thousands.  The  babe  was  so  delicate  that  he  was  wrapped 
in  wool,  and  “  neither  cried  nor  opened  his  eyes  for  sev¬ 
eral  weeks,”  says  Eliza  Clarke  in  her  “  Life  of  Susanna 
Wesley.” 

A  most  trying  calamity  wms  coming  to  the  Wesleys. 
They  had  suffered  poverty,  imprisonment,  and  the  horrors 
of  debt.  On  the  night  of  Feb.  9,  1709,  Epworth  Rectory 
was  burned  to  the  ground.  Five  days  afterwards  Mrs. 
AVesley  thus  describes  the  desolation  to  her  eldest  son, 
Samuel:  “The  lire  broke  out  about  eleven  or  twelve  at 
night,  we  being  all  in  bed,  nor  did  we  perceive  it  till  the 
roof  of  the  corn  chamber  was  burnt  through,  and  the  fire 
fell  upon  your  sister  Hetty’s  bed,  which  stood  in  the  little 
room  joining  upon  it.  She  awaked,  and  immediately  ran 
to  call  your  father,  who  lay  in  the  red  chamber. 

“We  had  no  time  to  take  our  clothes,  but  ran  all 
naked.  I  called  to  Betty  to  bring  the  children  out  of  the 
nursery;  she  took  up  Patty  and  left  Jacky  [John]  to  fol¬ 
low  her,  but  he,  going  to  the  door,  and  seeing  all  on  fire, 
ran  back  again.  We  got  the  street  door  open,  but  the 
wind  drove  the  flame  with  such  violence  that  none  could 


118 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


stand  against  it.  I  tried  thrice  to  break  through,  but  was 
driven  back.  1  made  another  attempt  and  waded  through 
the  fire,  which  did  me  no  other  hurt  than  to  scorch  my  legs 
and  face. 

“When  I  was  in  the  yard  I  looked  about  for  your 
father  and  the  children,  but,  seeing  none,  concluded  them 
all  lost.  But,  I  thank  God,  I  was  mistaken.  Your  father 
carried  sister  Emily,  Sukey,  and  Patty  into  the  gar¬ 
den;  then  missing  Jacky,  he  ran  back  into  the  house  to 
see  if  he  could  save  him.  lie  heard  him  miserably  crying 
out  in  the  nursery,  and  attempted  several  times  to  get 
up-stairs,  but  was  beat  back  by  the  flames ;  then  he 
thought  him  lost,  and  commended  his  soul  to  God,  and 
went  to  look  after  the  rest.  The  child  climbed  up  to  the 
window,  and  called  out  to  them  in  the  yard ;  they  got  up 
to  the  casement  and  pulled  him  out  just  as  the  roof  fell 
into  the  chamber.  Harry  broke  the  glass  of  the  parlor 
window,  and  threw  out  your  sisters  Matty  and  Hetty,  and 
so  by  God’s  great  mercy  we  all  escaped.” 

And  then  she  adds  to  this  pitiful  letter,  homeless  and 
penniless  as  they  are,  “  Do  not  be  discouraged;  God  will 
provide  for  you.” 

Mr.  Wesley  writes  to  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  that 
when  he  heard  that  “  killing  cry  ”  of  his  Jacky,  and  could 
not  help,  “  I  made  them  all  kneel  down  in  the  garden,  and 
we  prayed  God  to  receive  his  soul.” 

John  Wesley,  who  was  then  six  years  old,  always  felt 
that  God  had  miraculously  saved  him.  He  believed  that 
the  moment  when  his  father  was  praying  for  him  in  the 
garden  he  awoke.  “  I  did  not  cry,  as  they  imagined,”  he 
says,  “  unless  it  was  afterwards.  I  remember  all  the  cir¬ 
cumstances  as  distinctly  as  though  it  were  but  yester¬ 
day.  Seeing  the  room  was  very  light,  I  called  to  the 


SUSANNA  WESLEY. 


119 


maid  to  take  me  up.  But  none  answering,  I  put  my 
head  out  of  the  curtains  and  saw  streaks  of  fire  on  the  top 
of  the  room.  I  got  up  and  ran  to  the  door,  but  could  get 
no  farther,  all  beyond  it  being  in  a  blaze.  I  then  climbed 
up  on  the  chest  which  stood  near  the  window ;  one  in  the 
yard  saw  me,  and  proposed  running  to  fetch  a  ladder. 

“Another  answered,  ‘There  will  not  be.  time;  but  I 
have  thought  of  another  experiment.  Here,  I  will  fix  my¬ 
self  against  the  wall,  lift  a  light  man  and  set  him  on  my 
shoulders.’  They  did  so,  and  he  took  me  out  of  the  win¬ 
dow.  Just  then  the  wdiole  roof  fell  in  ;  but  it  fell  inward, 
or  we  had  all  been  crushed  at  once.  When  they  brought 
me  into  the  house  where  my  father  was,  he  cried  out, 
‘  Come,  neighbors,  let  us  kneel  down ;  let  us  give  thanks 
to  God  !  He  has  given  me  all  my  eight  children  ;  let  the 
house  go ;  I  am  rich  enough.’  ” 

The  books  which  had  been  purchased  with  the  utmost 
self-denial  were  all  gone  ;  the  collection  of  Hebrew  poetry, 
the  papers  of  the  Anuesley  family,  twenty  pounds  in 
money,  and  their  clothing.  A  month  after  the  fire,  in 
March,  1709,  Mrs.  Wesley’s  nineteenth  and  last  child  was 
born,  Kezia,  who,  like  Charles,  was  extremely  frail. 

The  fire,  for  a  time,  broke  up  the  Epworth  household. 
Susanna  and  Hetty  went  to  London  to  stay  with  their 
uncles,  Samuel  Anuesley  and  Matthew  Wesley.  Emilia, 
who  was  seventeen,  and  fitting  herself  to  be  a  governess, 
stayed  with  her  mother  for  a  year  in  lodgings,  caring  for 
her  with  a  peculiar  tenderness  and  sympathy. 

The  rectory  was  rebuilt,  after  a  time,  in  the  Queen  Anne 
style  of  red  brick,  at  a  cost  of  four  hundred  pounds,  and 
the  scattered  Wesleys  were  gathered  again  into  the  fold. 
The  rector,  though  he  could  ill  afford  it,  journeyed  to  Lon¬ 
don  for  several  winters  as  t he  representative  of  the  clergy 
in  his  diocese,  in  convocation. 


120 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Mrs.  ATesley’s  teaching  went  on  as  usual.  Sometimes, 
in  the  evening,  Emilia  read  to  her  mother.  The  latter 
writes  to  her  husband  at  London  that  Emilia  has  been 
reading  an  account  of  a  Danish  mission  to  Tranquebar : 
“  Their  labors  refreshed  my  soul  beyond  measure,”  she 
says  ;  “  and  I  could  not  forbear  spending  a  good  part  of 
that  evening  in  praising  and  adoring  the  Divine  goodness 
for  inspiring  those  good  men  with  such  ardent  zeal  for 
Ilis  glory.  For  some  days  I  could  think  and  speak  of 
little  else. 

“  It  then  came  into  my  mind,  though  I  am  not  a  man 
nor  a  minister  of  the  Gospel,  yet  if  I  were  inspired  with 
a  true  zeal  for  Ilis  glory,  and  really  desired  the  salvation 
of  souls,  I  might  do  more  than  I  do.  .  .  .  However,  I 
resolved  to  begin  with  my  own  children,  and  accordingly 
1  proposed  and  observed  the  following  method  :  I  take 
such  a  proportion  of  time  as  I  can  best  spare  every  night 
to  discourse  with  each  child  by  itself,  on  something  that 
relates  to  its  principal  concerns.  On  Monday  I  talk  with 
Molly,  on  Tuesday  with  Hetty,  Wednesday  with  Nancy, 
Thursday  with  -Tacky,  Friday  with  Patty,  Saturday  with 
Charles  ;  and  with  Emily  and  Sukey  together  on  Sunday.” 

These  Thursday  talks  with  John  were  never  forgotten 
by  him,  and  he  wrote  her  years  afterwards  when  he  was 
a  Fellow  of  Lincoln  College  :  “If  you  can  spare  me  only 
that  little  part  of  Thursday  evening  which  37ou  formerly 
bestowed  upon  me  in  another  manner,  I  doubt  not  it 
would  be  as  useful  now  for  correcting  my  heart,  as  it 
was  then  for  forming  my  judgment.” 

Since  John  had  been  so  wonderfnlly  preserved  to  her, 
Mrs.  Wesley  writes  in  her  private  meditations  :  “  I  do  in¬ 
tend  to  be  more  particularly  careful  of  the  soul  of  this 
child,  that  Thou  hast  so  mercifully  provided  for,  than  ever 


SUSANXA  WESLEY. 


121 


I  have  been,  that  I  may  do  my  endeavor  to  instil  into  his 
mind  the  principles  of  Thy  true  religion  and  virtue.” 

Besides  Mrs.  Wesley’s  school  duties,  she  prepared  for 
the  religious  instruction  of  her  children  three  text-books  : 
“  A  Manual  of  Natural  Theology,”  “  An  Exposition  of  the 
Leading  Truths  of  the  Gospel,  based  upon  the  Apostles’ 
Creed,”  and  “A  Practical  Exposition  of  the  Ten  Com¬ 
mandments,”  besides  sixty  pages  of  manuscript,  entitled 
“  A  Religious  Conference  between  Mother  and  Emilia.” 

Reading  of  the  Danish  mission  was  about  to  bear  fruit, 
even  if  Mrs.  Wesley  was  “not  a  man  nor  a  minister  of 
the  Gospel,”  for  in  1710  she  began  to  hold  service  every 
Sunday  evening  in  the  rectory  kitchen  for  the  benefit  of 
her  own  children  and  servants.  Others  asked  permission 
to  come  till  soon  two  hundred  or  more  were  present,  and 
many  were  obliged  to  go  away  for  lack  of  room.  She 
read  a  sermon  and  then  held  converse  with  the  people.  A 
woman  who  could  write  theological  books  for  her  children 
could  talk  as  acceptably,  doubtless,  as  the  curate  who 
preached  in  Mr.  Wesley’s  absence. 

This  was  indeed  an  innovation,  and  Mr.  Wesley  wrote 
to  his  godly  and  intellectual  wife  remonstrating  with  her. 
She  replied  in  a  way  that  must  have  been  convincing  if 
not  conclusive:  “The  main  of  your  objections,”  she 
writes,  “  against  our  Sunday  evening  meetings  are  — 
first,  that  it  will  look  particular ;  secondly,  my  sex  ;  and 
lastly,  your  being  at  present  in  a  public  station  and  char¬ 
acter.  .  .  .  As  to  its  looking  particular,  I  grant  it  does  ; 
and  so  does  almost  every  thing  that  is  serious,  or  that 
may  any  way  advance  the  glory  of  God  or  the  salvation 
of  souls,  if  it  be  performed  out  of  a  pulpit,  or  in  the  way 
of  a  common  conversation.  .  .  .  To  your  second,  I  reply 
that  as  I  am  a  woman,  so  I  am  also  a  mistress  of  a  large 


122 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


family.  And  though  the  superior  charge  of  the  souls 
contained  in  it  lies  upon  you,  as  head  of  the  family  and 
as  their  minister,  yet  in  your  absence  I  cannot  but  look 
upon  every  soul  you  leave  under  my  care  as  a  talent  com¬ 
mitted  to  me,  under  a  trust,  by  the  great  Lord  of  all  the 
families  of  heaven  and  earth.  ...  I  never  durst  posi¬ 
tively  presume  to  hope  that  God  would  make  use  of  me 
as  an  instrument  in  doing  good  ;  the  farthest  I  ever  durst 
go  was,  ‘  It  may  be  ;  who  can  tell?  With  God  all  things 
are  possible.’  ” 

To  his  third  objection  that  he  was  in  a  “  public  sta¬ 
tion,”  she  replies  :  “  If  I  and  my  children  went  a-visiting 
on  Sunday  nights,  or  if  we  admitted  of  impertinent  visits, 
as  too  many  do  who  think  themselves  good  Christians, 
perhaps  it  would  be  thought  no  scandalous  practice, 
though,  in  truth,  it  would  be  so. 

“Therefore,  why  any  should  reflect  upon  you,  let  your 
station  be  what  it  will,  because  your  wife  endeavors  to 
draw  people  to  the  church,  and  to  restrain  them,  by  read¬ 
ing  and  other  persuasions,  from  their  profanation  of  God’s 
most  holy  day,  I  cannot  conceive.  But  if  any  should  be 
so  mad  as  to  do  it,  I  wish  you  would  not  regard  it.  For 
my  part,  I  value  no  censure  on  this  account.” 

When  Mr.  Inman,  the  rector,  wrote  Mr.  Wesley  ask¬ 
ing  him  to  stop  his  wife’s  meetings,  and  saying  that  more 
people  went  to  hear  her  than  came  to  the  church  to  hear 
him,  Mr.  Wesley  again  remonstrated.  Mrs.  Wesley  wrote 
back  that  some  who  had  not  been  inside  a  church  for  seven 
years  came  to  her  meetings,  and  then  she  wisely  puts  the 
responsibility  on  him  :  “  If  you  do,  after  all,  think  fit  to 
dissolve  this  assembly,  do  not  tell  me  that  you  desire  me 
to  do  it,  for  that  will  not  satisfy  my  conscience  ;  but  send 
me  your  positive  command,  in  such  full  and  express  terms 


SUSANNA  WESLEY. 


123 


as  may  absolve  me  from  all  guilt  and  punishment  for  neg¬ 
lecting  this  opportunity  of  doing  good,  when  you  and  I 
shall  appear  before  the  great  and  awful  tribunal  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ.” 

John  Wesley  never  forgot  these  precious  services,  and 
felt  that  if  his  mother  could  win  souls,  other  women 
should  not  be  debarred  from  such  a  labor  of  love.  It 
is  not  strange  that  in  his  great  work  in  after  years, 
women  should  have  been  his  invaluable  helpers,  both  by 
word  and  deed. 

Nearly  two  centuries  have  come  and  gone  since  the 
mother  of  Wesley  held  services  in  the  Epwortk  rectory. 
How  many  noble  and  educated  women  since  then  have 
prayed  and  preached !  And  what  human  being  shall 
dare  to  close  the  door  which  Susanna  Wesley  helped  to 
open  for  her  sex  ? 

John  had  entered  Charterhouse  School,  London,  when 
he  was  a  little  over  ten  years  of  age,  on  the  nomination 
of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham.  Here  he  studied  for  six 
years,  and  became  a  favorite  with  both  teachers  and 
pupils.  Through  the  tyranny  of  the  older  boys,  who 
took  away  the  food  of  the  younger,  he  says,  “  From 
ten  to  fourteen  I  had  little  but  bread  to  eat,  and  not 
great  plenty  of  that.”  He  was  ambitious,  and  neces¬ 
sarily  so,  if,  as  Addison  says,  “  Men  of  the  greatest 
abilities  are  most  fired  with  ambition.” 

Of  course,  letter  after  letter  passed  from  the  devoted 
mother  to  her  son.  Now  she  wrote  of  the  “  knockings” 
at  the  rectory  which  have  never  been  accounted  for ;  now 
to  keep  courage  in  his  struggle  with  poverty,  —  he  had 
gone  to  Christ  Church,  Oxford,  on  a  forty-pound  scholar¬ 
ship  from  the  Charterhouse  School,  —  “and  to  hope  for 
better  days.” 


124 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMAXHOOD. 


A  rich  brother,  Samuel  Annesley,  was  coming  from 
India,  and  he  would  probably  help  them  all.  Mr.  "Wes¬ 
ley  had  acted  as  his  agent  for  a  time,  but  the  arrangement 
had  not  been  satisfactory.  He  blamed  Mr.  Wesley,  and 
the  loyal  wife  replied  that  her  husband  might  not  be  “  fit 
for  worldly  business,”  but  added,  “Did  I  not  know  that 
Almighty  wisdom  hath  views  and  ends  in  fixing  the 
bounds  of  our  habitation,  which  are  out  of  our  ken,  I 
should  think  it  a  thousand  pities  that  a  man  of  his  bright¬ 
ness  and  rare  endowments  of  learning  and  useful  knowl¬ 
edge  in  relation  to  the  church  of  God  should  be  confined 
to  an  obscure  corner  of  this  country,  where  his  talents 
are  buried,  and  he  determined  to  a  way  of  life  for  which 
he  is  not  so  well  qualified  as  I  could  wish.” 

Sukey,  who  had  been  led  to  expect  aid  from  her  uncle, 
becoming  discouraged  by  poverty,  married,  unwisely,  a 
man  from  whom  she  afterwards  separated.  Mrs.  Wesley 
went  to  London  to  meet  the  brother  from  India,  but  he 
did  not  come,  and  was  never  heard  from  afterwards. 
When  John  learned  that  his  mother  was  going  to  Lon¬ 
don,  he  wept  for  joy  at  the  thought  of  seeing  her,  but  as 
he  had  no  money,  he  could  not  leave  Oxford. 

On  closing  his  college  life,  John  began  to  think  of  be¬ 
coming  a  clergyman.  He  wrote  to  his  father,  who  coun¬ 
selled  him  to  wait,  fearing  that  he  might  be  inclined  to  this 
step  merely  as  a  profession,  but  his  mother  understood  him 
better,  and  wrote  at  once,  “  I  was  much  pleased  with  your 
letter  to  your  father  about  taking  holy  orders,  and  liked 
the  proposal  well.  ...  I  approve  the  disposition  of  your 
mind,  and  think  the  sooner  you  are  a  deacon  the  better.” 
Mr.  Wesley  soon  agreed  with  his  wife. 

John  wrote  her,  making  inquiries  about  predestination 
and  other  doctrines  which  troubled  him,  and  she,  with  her 


SUSANNA  WESLEY. 


125 


superior  education j  answered  with  rare  ability  and  clear 
judgment.  She  advised  what  books  to  read.  Thomas  a 
Kempis,  on  the  “  Imitation  of  Christ,”  and  Jeremy  Tay¬ 
lor’s  “  Rules  for  Holy  Living  and  Dying”  made  a  lasting 
impression  upon  John  Wesley.  After  reading  the  latter, 
he  said,  “  I  resolved  to  dedicate  all  my  life  to  God,  —  all 
my  thoughts  and  words  and  actions,  —  being  thoroughly 
convinced  there  was  no  medium.”  What  John  Wesley 
would  have  been  with  an  ignorant  mother,  it  is  difficult  to 
conjecture.  The  old  question  of  ways  and  means  could 
not  be  ignored.  The  expenses  of  ordination  must  be  met. 
Poor  Mr.  Wesley  wrote  his  son,  “  I  will  assist  you  in  the 
charges  for  ordination,  though  I  am  myself  just  now 
struggling  for  life.” 

Joku  was  ordained  deacon  Sept.  19,  1725,  and  in  the 
following  March  was  elected  Fellow  of  Lincoln  College. 
H  is  father  had  interceded  for  him  with  Dr.  Morley,  rector 
of  the  college,  telling  John  meantime  to  “  study  hard  lest 
your  opponents  beat  you  ” ;  and  when  elected,  with  a 
glowing  heart,  though  burdened  with  debt,  writing,  “  I 
have  done  more  than  I  could  do  for  you.  .  .  .  The  last 
twelve  pounds  pinched  me  so  hard  that  I  am  forced  to 
beg  time  of  your  brother  Sam  till  after  harvest  to  pay  him 
the  ten  pounds  that  you  say  he  lent  you.  Nor  shall  I  have 
as  much  as  that,  perhaps  not  live  pounds,  to  keep  my 
family  till  after  harvest.  .  .  .  Mhat  will  be  my  own  fate 
God  only  knows.  Wherever  I  am,  my  Jack  is  Fellow  of 
Lincoln.” 

For  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  John  Wesley  held 
this  honorable  position.  He  laid  out  a  plan  of  work,  and 
closely  followed  it.  Mondays  and  Tuesdays  he  devoted 
to  Greek  and  Roman  historians  and  poets ;  Wednesdays 
to  logic  and  ethics ;  Thursdays  to  Hebrew  and  Arabic ; 


126 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Fridays  to  metaphysics  and  natural  philosophy :  Saturdays 
to  oratory  and  poetiy,  chiefly  to  composing  ;  and  Sundays 
to  divinity.  He  perfected  himself  in  French,  and  gave 
considerable  time  to  mathematics  and  optics. 

He  wrote  to  his  brother  Samuel,  “  Leisure  and  I  have 
taken  leave  of  one  another.  I  propose  to  be  busy  as  long 
as  I  live.” 

In  the  summer  of  1727  John  came  to  Epworth  to  assist 
his  father  who  had  become  somewhat  disabled  by  paraly¬ 
sis.  He  was  now  sixty-five  years  old,  and  poverty  and 
labor  were  telling  upon  the  rector  of  Epworth.  Brain 
work  was  fatiguing,  but  poverty  a  thousand  times  more 
so,  and  the  never-to-be-lifted  debt  w'as  eating  like  a  can¬ 
cer.  Strange  that  somebody  did  not  lift  the  burden  !  And 
yet  we  are  as  blind  to-day  as  were  the  people  of  Epworth. 
To  be  our  “  brother’s  keeper  ”  was,  and  is,  a  very  difficult 
part  of  religion. 

All  were  delighted  to  have  John  at  home.  He  seems  to 
have  fallen  somewhat  in  love  with  Betty  Kirkham,  which 
he  confides  to  his  mother,  but  he  is  soon  recalled  to  Lin¬ 
coln  by  Dr.  Morley  to  become  Greek  lecturer  and  mode¬ 
rator  of  the  classes,  with  several  private  pupils,  and  is  so 
busy  that  his  love  matter  is  neglected  or  forgotten.  When 
John  returned  to  college  he  found  that  his  brother  Charles, 
who  was  at  Christ  Church,  Oxford,  had  gathered  round 
him  a  small  band  of  Christian  young  men  who  not  only 
studied  earnestly,  but  met  frequently  evenings  to  read  the 
Greek  Testament  together.  Charles  attributed  his  in¬ 
creased  spirituality  to  “  somebody’s  prayers,  —  my  moth¬ 
er’s,  most  likely.” 

John  at  once  joined  the  little  band,  and,  being  older, 
became  the  leader.  They  were  all  devoted  churchmen, 
visited  the  poor  and  the  sick,  prisoners  and  debtors,  — 


SUSANNA  WESLEY. 


127 


the  Wesley  boys  must  have  had  a  tender  feeling  for  the 
latter,  —  went  without  all  luxuries  and  many  necessities 
for  the  sake  of  doing  good  ;  and,  living  with  all  the  method 
to  which  they  had  been  trained  by  Mrs.  Wesley,  were 
nicknamed  “Methodists.” 

John  Wesley  began  to  rise  at  four  o’clock  in  the  morn¬ 
ing  for  his  work,  and  continued  in  this  habit  for  sixty 
years.  In  the  first  six  years  the  number  of  Methodists  grew 
to  fourteen.  Who  supposed  then  that  it  would  ever  grow 
to  over  fourteen  millions  ? 

John  wrote  his  father  of  the  wTork  they  were  doing,  and 
the  good  old  man  wrote  back,  “  I  have  the  highest  reason 
to  bless  God  that  He  lias  given  me  two  sons  together  at 
Oxford,  to  whom  lie  has  granted  grace  and  courage  to 
turn  the  war  against  the  world  and  the  devil.” 

A  curacy  was  offered  to  John  eight  miles  from  Oxford, 
at  thirty  pounds  a  year,  which  he  accepted  in  addition  to 
his  other  work.  When  he  had  thirty  pounds  a  year,  he 
lived  on  twenty-eight  pounds,  and  gave  away  two.  The 
next  year,  receiving  sixty  pounds,  he  lived  on  twenty- 
eight,  and  gave  away  thirty-two.  The  third  year  he 
received  ninety,  and  gave  away  sixty-two. 

One  cold  winter’s  day,  a  young  girl  whom  the  Method¬ 
ists  were  keeping  at  school,  called  upon  John  Wesley. 
She  looked  nearly  frozen.  “  You  seem  half  starved,” 
said  Wesley;  “have  you  nothing  to  wear  but  that  linen 
gown  ?  ” 

“  Sir,  this  is  all  I  have,”  said  the  girl. 

Wesley  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  found  it  nearly 
empty.  Then  he  looked  at  the  pictures  on  his  walls. 
“It  struck  me,”  he  says,  “will  thy  Master  say,  ‘Well 
done,  good  and  faithful  steward  ’  ?  Thou  hast  adorned  thy 
walls  with  the  money  which  might  have  screened  this  poor 


128 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


creature  from  the  cold  !  O  justice  !  O  mercy  !  Are  not 
these  pictures  the  blood  of  this  poor  maid?  ” 

This  habit  of  giving  he  continued  through  life.  When 
he  was  an  old  man  he  wrote  in  his  journal,  “  For  up¬ 
wards  of  eighty-six  years  I  have  kept  my  accounts  exactly. 
I  will  not  attempt  it  any  longer,  being  satisfied  with  the 
continual  conviction  that  I  save  all  I  can,  and  give  all  I 
can  :  that  is,  all  I  have.” 

In  one  of  his  last  impassioned  sermons,  he  says,  “Leave 
children  enough  to  live  on,  not  in  idleness  and  luxury,  but 
by  honest  industry.  And  if  you  have  not  children,  upon 
what  scriptural  or  rational  principle  can  you  leave  a  groat 
behind  you  more  than  will  bury  you?  .  .  .  Oh,  leave 
nothing  behind  you  !  Lend  all  you  have  before  you  go 
into  a  better  world  !  Lend  it,  lend  it  all  unto  the  Lord, 
and  it  shall  be  paid  to  you  again.” 

In  the  spring  of  1731,  Mr.  Matthew  Wesley,  of  London, 
came  to  Epworth  to  visit  his  brother,  and  on  his  return 
wrote  a  very  stern  letter  to  the  rector,  because  he  was 
rearing  his  family  in  such  poverty.  He  did  not  realize 
that  it  cost  more  to  support  and  educate  the  rector’s  eight 
children  than  it  did  his  only  child. 

Mrs.  Wesley,  as  ever,  was  enduring  trials.  Several  of 
her  daughters,  tired  of  the  struggle  with  poverty,  had 
married  unfortunately,  and  increased  their  troubles.  The 
bright  and  beautiful  Hetty,  who  read  Greek  at  eight, 
married  against  her  will  a  drinking  man,  who  ill- 
treated  her.  Martha,  a  woman  of  unusual  loveliness  of 
character,  married  a  curate  who  led  a  most  unworthy  life. 
When  he  was  dying,  after  he  had  made  her  unhappy  for 
forty  years,  he  said,  “I  have  injured  an  angel,  —  an 
angel  that  never  reproached  me.”  Kezia  died  at  thirty- 
two,  her  affections  having  been  won  by  the  man  who  was 
already  engaged  to  Martha. 


*9  US  ANNA  WE  SI.  E  Y. 


129 


Mary,  the  deformed  girl,  was  married  to  a  young  man 
whom  the  Wesleys  educated,  and  then  gave  him  the  living  at 
Wroote,  a  part  of  Mr.  Wesley’s  parish.  The  young  couple 
had  fifty  pounds  a  year  to  live  on.  Mary  and  her  infant 
child  died  a  year  after  her  marriage.  Mrs.  Wesley  took 
this  death  very  much  to  heart. 

In  1734  Mr.  Wesley  made  his  last  visit  to  London  to  see 
his  “Dissertations  on  the  Book  of  Job,”  dedicated  to 
queen  Caroline,  through  the  press.  Five  hundred  copies 
were  printed,  and  Samuel  and  John,  as  well  as  their  father, 
obtained  all  the  subscriptions  possible. 

Mr.  Wesley  was  growing  old,  seventy-two,  —  the  won¬ 
der  was  that  he  was  not  growing  discouraged,  —  and  how 
to  leave  his  family  provided  for  was  a  serious  question. 
He  wrote  pitifully  to  Samuel,  urging  him  to  become  rector 
of  Epworth,  and  thus  care  for  his  mother  at  her  home  : 
“As  for  your  aged  and  infirm  mother,  as  soon  as  I  drop 
she  must  turn  out  unless  you  succeed  me,  which,  if  you 
do,  and  she  survives  me,  I  know  you  ’ll  immediately  take 
her  then  to  your  own  house,  or  rather  continue  her  there, 
where  your  wife  and  you  will  nourish  her  till  we  meet 
again  in  heaven  ;  and  you  will  be  a  guide  and  a  stay  to 
the  rest  of  the  family.” 

Samuel  did  not  wish  to  live  at  Epworth,  and  John  was 
urged  to  come,  but  he  gave  twenty-six  reasons  against  it. 
As  ever,  through  life,  Mr.  Wesley’s  hands  seemed  tied, 
and  he  could  do  no  more. 

Mrs.  Wesley  saw  that  the  end  was  approaching,  and 
wrote  John  and  Charles  to  come  to  Epworth.  They  ar¬ 
rived  in  time  to  talk  with  their  father.  He  longed  to  see 
his  “Job”  through  the  press  and  his  debts  paid,  but  both 
these  comforts  were  denied  him.  Mrs.  Wesley  came  into 
the  room  but  seldom,  for  she  fainted  each  time  and  had 


130 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


to  be  carried  out.  At  sunset,  April  25,  17:55,  the  debt- 
burdened,  devoted  Samuel  Wesley  passed  away,  while  John 
was  praying.  ]\Irs.  Wesley  was  comforted,  because  she 
believed  that  her  prayers  were  answered  in  his  easy  death. 

The  day  after  the  burial  in  Epworth  churchyard,  the 
landlady  seized  all  Mrs.  Wesley’s  “quick  stock,”  Charles 
wrote  to  his  brother  Samuel,  valued  at  forty  pounds,  for 
the  fifteen  pounds  which  his  father  owed  her.  “  It  will 
be  highly  necessary,”  he  adds,  “  to  bring  all  accounts  of 
what  he  owed  you,  that  you  may  mark  all  the  goods  in 
the  house  as  principal  creditor,  and  thereby  secure  to  my 
mother  time  and  liberty  to  sell  them  to  the  best  advan¬ 
tage.  .  .  .  Let  the  Society  [which  gave  aid  to  the  widows 
of  clergymen]  give  her  what  they  please,  she  must  be  still 
in  some  degree  burdensome  to  you,  as  she  calls  it.  How 
.  do  T  envy  you  that  glorious  burden,  and  wish  I  could 
share  it  with  you  !  You  must  put  me  in  some  way  of 
getting  a  little  money,  that  I  may  do  something  in  the 
shipwreck  of  the  family,  though  it  be  no  more  than  fur¬ 
nishing  a  plank.” 

Mrs.  Wesley  moved  away  from  Epworth,  the  place  ot 
so  many  joys  and  sorrows  to  her,  and  went  to  live  with 
Emilia,  who  had  been  helped  by  her  brothers  to  establish 
a  school  at  Gainsborough. 

A  short  time  after  the  death  of  Mr.  Wesley,  John  and 
Charles  were  invited  by  Gen.  James  Edward  Oglethorpe, 
a  member  of  Parliament  who  had  founded  the  State  of 
Georgia,  to  go  to  the  New  World  and  help  Christianize 
the  natives  as  well  as  minister  to  the  colonists.  John 
declined  to  leave  his  aged  mother.  On  being  urged  to 
go  if  she  would  consent,  he  visited  her,  determining  to 
abide  by  her  decision.  When  asked  her  advice,  the  brave 
woman  replied,  “  Had  I  twenty  sons,  I  should  rejoice 


SUSAXXA  WESLEY. 


131 


that  they  were  all  so  employed,  though  I  should  never 
see  them  more.” 

This,  of  course,  was  decisive,  and  the  two  young  men 
bade  her  farewell,  and  sailed  Oct.  14,  1735,  for  America. 

In  her  first  letter  to  her  beloved  John,  she  mourns  that 
she  “does  not  long  to  go  home,  as  in  reason  I  ought  to 
do.  This  often  shocks  me ;  and  as  I  constantly  pray 
(almost  without  ceasing)  for  thee,  my  son,  so  I  beg  you, 
likewise,  to  pray  for  me,  that  God  would  make  me  better, 
and  take  me  at  the  best.”  One  does  not  wonder  that  she 
desired  to  live,  if  only  to  see  brighter  days  if  possible ! 
After  spending  a  year  or  more  with  Samuel,  she  went  to 
live  with  her  daughter,  Martha. 

On  the  voyage  to  America  the  two  young  ministers 
used  every  hour  well.  Wesley  studied  German,  Spanish, 
and  Italian,  when  not  talking  with  the  passengers  or  hold¬ 
ing  service.  lie  found  the  Indians  ready  to  hear  the 
Gospel,  though  “they  would  not  be  made  Christians  as 
the  Spaniards  make  Christians,”  one  of  the  chiefs  saicW 
After  two  years  or  more,  Wesley  decided  to  return  to 
England,  not  satisfied  with  his  success,  though  Whitefield 
said,  “The  good  Mr.  John  Wesley  has  done  in  America 
is  inexpressible.  II is  name  is  very  precious  among  the 
people.” 

Early  in  1738  Wesley  met  Peter  Bolder  from  Ger¬ 
many,  an  educated  Moravian,  who  “preached  justifica¬ 
tion  through  faith  in  Christ,  and  of  freedom  by  it  from 
the  dominion  and  guilt  of  sin.”  Bolder  taught  that  a 
man  may  be  converted  in  an  instant  from  sin  to  joy  in 
the  Holy  Spirit.  Wesley  felt  that  there  was  a  peace  in 
believing  and  an  assurance  of  pardon  which  he  did  not 
then  possess,  and  was  determined  to  find  it  through 
prayer. 


182 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMAXHOOD. 


He  was  troubled  for  many  days,  till,  on  the  evening  of 
May  24,  1738,  he  experienced  a  great  change.  “I  felt 
my  heart  strangely  warmed,”  he  says.  “  I  felt  I  did 
trust  in  Christ,  Christ  alone,  for  salvation ;  and  an  assur¬ 
ance  was  given  me  that  He  had  taken  away  my  sins.” 
His  joy  and  peace  were  not  unbroken,  but  from  that  time 
onward  he  knew  no  rest  in  his  marvellous  work.  His 
message  forever  after  was,  “  By  grace  are  ye  saved, 
through  faith.” 

“  Christians  are  called  to  love  Cod  with  all  their  hearts, 
and  to  serve  Him  with  all  their  strength,”  lie  said,  “  which 
is  precisely  what  I  apprehend  to  be  meant  by  the  scriptural 
term,  perfection .” 

He  began  to  preach  with  renewed  ardor.  He  talked  to 
the  felons  in  Newgate ;  he  spoke  in  churches  and  before 
societies,  and  the  congregations  grew  larger  every  day. 
Soon  the  church  doors  began  to  be  closed  against  him  and 
Whitefield,  and  they  preached  in  the  open  air. 
o  “At  first,”  he  says,  “I  could  scarce  reconcile  myself 
to  this  strange  way  of  preaching  in  the  fields  ;  having 
been  all  my  life,  till  very  lately,  so  tenacious  of  every 
point  relating  to  decency  and  order,  that  I  should  have 
thought  the  saving  of  souls  almost  a  sin  if  it  had  not 
been  done  in  a  church.” 

During  the  last  eight  months  of  1739  Wesley  delivered 
five  hundred  discourses,  only  eight  of  which  were  given 
in  churches.  At  Blackheath,  from  twelve  to  fourteen 
thousand  persons  gathered  to  hear  him,  and  quite  as 
many  at  Moorfields,  Kennington  Common,  and  elsewhere. 
Good  Mrs.  Wesley  was  seeing  the  fruit  of  her  labors. 

Persecutions  had  begun  in  earnest.  John  Wesley  was 
forbidden  by  the  sheriff  to  speak  at  Newgate,  the  last 
place  where  prohibition  was  to  be  expected  !  The  Meth- 


SUSANNA  WESLEY. 


133 


odists  were  called  “  craekbrained  enthusiasts,  profane 
hypocrites,  and  mad  dogs.” 

In  Staffordshire  a  crowd  surrounded  Wesley,  struck 
him  with  clubs  on  the  breast  and  mouth  till  the  blood 
flowed,  and  one  seized  him  by  the  hair.  The  slight, 
sweet-faced  John  Wesley  said,  “Are  you  willing  to  hear 
me  speak  ?  ” 

“  No,  no  ;  down  with  him  ;  kill  him  at  once  !  ” 

“What  evil  have  I  done?  Which  of  you  all  have  I 
wronged  in  word  or  deed  ?  ” 

“  Bring  him  away,  bring  him  awa}T !  ”  cried  the  mob. 

Wesley  began  to  pray,  when  the  ringleader  said,  “  Sir, 
I  will  spend  my  life  for  you ;  follow  me,  and  no  one  shall 
hurt  a  hair  of  your  head.” 

“  From  the  beginning  to  the  end,”  says  Wesley,  “  I 
found  the  same  presence  of  mind,  as  if  I  had  been  sitting 
in  my  own  study.  But  I  took  no  thought  for  one  moment 
before  another;  only  once  it  came  into  mind,  that,  if  they 
should  throw  me  into  the  river,  it  would  spoil  the  papers 
that  were  in  my  pocket.  For  myself,  I  did  not  doubt  but 
I  should  swim  across,  having  but  a  thin  coat  and  a  light 
pair  of  boots.” 

Sometimes  cattle  were  driven  among  the  congregations; 
stones  were  thrown,  one  of  which  struck  Wesley  between 
the  eyes,  but  wiping  away  the  blood,  he  continued  preach¬ 
ing.  Women  were  kicked  and  dragged  by  the  hair,  and 
their  clothes  set  on  fire  by  rockets.  Men  were  knocked 
down  and  thrown  into  the  gutters.  The  houses  of  those 
who  were  called  Methodists  were  torn  down  and  the  furni¬ 
ture  was  broken  into  fragments. 

Thousands  of  conversions  were  reported,  and  many 
marvellous  answers  to  prayer.  Samuel  Wesley  had  be¬ 
come  alarmed  at  such  strange  doings,  and  the  more  so 


134 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


that  he  had  heard  that  his  mother  had  attended  one  of 
these  gathering's.  He  wrote  her  :  “  John  and  Charles  are 
now  become  so  notorious,  the  world  will  be  curious  to 
know  wrhen  and  how  they  were  born,  what  schools  bred 
at,  what  colleges,  if  in  Oxford,  and  when  matriculated, 
what  degrees  took,  and  where,  when,  and  by  whom  or¬ 
dained ;  what  books  they  have  written  and  published.  I 
wish  they  may  spare  so  much  time  as  to  vouchsafe  a 
little  of  their  story.  For  my  own  part,  I  had  much  rather 
have  them  picking  straws  within  the  walls,  than  preach¬ 
ing  in  the  area  of  Moorfields. 

“  It  was  with  exceeding  concern  and  grief  I  heard  you 
had  countenanced  a  spreading  delusion,  so  far  as  to  be  oue 
of  Jack’s  congregation.  Is  it  not  enough  that  I  am  bereft 
of  both  my  brothers,  but  must  my  mother  follow  too? ” 

Two  weeks  later  Samuel  Wesley  was  called  away  from 
such  earthly  distractions  as  John  was  engaged  in.  He 
died  suddenly,  Nov.  5.  1 739,  at  the  age  of  forty-nine.  Mrs. 
Wesley  bore  the  death  of  her  first-born  and  dearly  loved 
Samuel  with  composure,  saying,  “  He  is  now  at  rest.  .  .  . 
He  hath  reached  the  haven  before  me,  but  I  shall  soon 
follow  him.” 

A  month  later  she  wrote  to  Charles  :  “  Your  brother, 
whom  I  shall  henceforth  call  Son  Wesley,  since  my  dear 
Sam  is  gone  home,  has  just  been  with  me  and  much 
revived  my  spirits.  ...  I  want  either  him  or  you  ;  for, 
indeed,  in  the  most  literal  sense,  I  am  become  a  little 
child  and  want  continual  succor.” 

Shortly  after  Samuel’s  death,  in  1739,  Jolm  Wesley 
purchased  the  old  Foundry,  near  Moorfields,  London.  It 
had  been  used  by  the  government  for  casting  cannon,  till 
in  1716  an  explosion  left  it  in  ruins.  He  had  no  income 
save  the  Oxford  fellowship,  but  friends  loaned  and  gave 


SUSANNA  WESLEY. 


135 


money,  some  four,  six,  and  ten  shillings  a  year,  so  that  at 
an  expense  of  about  eight  hundred  pounds  a  plain  chapel 
to  accommodate  fifteen  hundred  persons  was  built,  with  a 
house  for  lay  preachers,  and  a  band-room,  large  enough 
for  three  hundred,  where  the  classes  met,  and  where  five 
o’clock  morning  service  was  conducted.  The  north  end 
of  the  room  was  used  for  a  school,  and  the  south  end  for 
a  book-room  where  Wesley’s  publications  were  sold  and 
the  proceeds  devoted  to  Gospel  work.  During  his  long 
ministry  he  wrote  hundreds  of  pamphlets  and  books  which 
had  an  extensive  sale. 

Besides  his  own  works,  he  prepared  about  fifty  volumes 
of  the  “  Christian  Library,”  which  were  made  up  of  ex¬ 
tracts  from  the  best  writers,  grammars  of  five  languages, 
natural  philosophy,  history,  memoirs,  etc.  His  object 
was  “  that  peasants  and  persons  of  neglected  education 
might  have  the  means  of  acquiring  useful  knowledge  at 
the  smallest  expense  of  time  and  money.” 

He  used  to  say,  “It  cannot  be  that  the  people  should 
grow  in  grace  unless  they  give  themselves  to  reading.  A 
reading  people  will  always  be  a  knowing  people.” 

Over  this  band-room  were  the  rooms  of  John  Wesley, 
and  thither  he  brought  his  idolized  mother  to  live  with 
him.  He  was  then  thirty-six.  These  must  have  been 
happy  days  for  tired,  trusting  Susanna  Wesley.  She 
and  her  son  talked  together  of  theological  matters.  When 
Thomas  Maxfield,  one  of  the  first  lay  preachers,  was  al¬ 
most  insensibly  led  from  praying  with  the  converts  to 
preaching,  and  John  was  disturbed  at  this  new  departure, 
Mrs.  Wesley  said,  “John,  take  care  what  you  do  with 
respect  to  that  young  man,  for  he  is  as  surely  called  of 
God  to  preach  as  you  are.  Examine  what  have  been  the 
fruits  of  his  preaching,  and  hear  him  yourself.” 


136 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Wesley  was  convinced,  and  said,  “It  is  the  Lord;  let 
Him  do  what  seemeth  Him  good.  What  am  I,  that  I 
should  withstand  God  ?  ” 

A  little  later,  Emilia,  who  had  married  an  impecunious 
apothecary,  was  left  a  widow,  and  came  to  live  at  the 
Foundry. 

Wesley  was  drawn  into  some  Calvinistic  disputes  with 
Whitfield  and  others,  but,  in  the  main,  his  life  wms  devoted 
to  the  one  purpose  of  winning  souls.  He  was  punctual, 
always  kept  his  word,  would  ride  all  night  rather  than  fail 
to  meet  an  appointment,  and  was  careful  in  the  use  of 
time.  Once,  when  he  was  kept  waiting,  lie  exclaimed 
sadly,  “  I  have  lost  ten  minutes  forever  !  ” 

Meetings  were  being  held  all  over  Great  Britain.  The 
persecutions  continued,  and  so  did  the  conversions. 
Charles,  too,  as  well  as  John,  was  becoming  known  and 
loved  for  his  hymns.  During  his  life  it  is  said  that  he 
composed  not  far  from  six  thousand  six  hundred.  The 
Wesleys  collected  and  furnished  the  tunes  for  their  people. 
John  said  to  his  preachers,  “  Exhort  every  one  in  the 
congregation  to  sing,  not  one  in  ten  only.” 

In  1742,  when  John  was  thirty-nine,  he  visited  ms  old 
home  at  Epworth.  He  offered  to  assist  Mr.  Ilomley,  the 
curate,  either  by  preaching  or  reading  prayers ;  but  the 
offer  was  declined,  and  a  sermon  preached  against  enthu¬ 
siasts.  At  six  o’clock,  therefore,  Wesley  preached  in 
Epworth  churchyard,  standing  on  his  father’s  grave,  to 
the  largest  congregation  ever  gathered  in  the  town.  He 
remained  eight  days,  every  evening  preaching  on  the 
grave.  The  effect  was  magical.  On  one  occasion  the 
people  on  every  side  wept  aloud,  and  then  broke  into  praise 
and  thanksgiving.  Men  who  had  not  been  inside  a  church 
for  thirty  years  were  deeply  moved.  The  “  brand  plucked 


SUSANNA  WESLEY. 


137 


from  the  burning,”  when  he  was  six  years  old,  had  kindled 
such  a  fire  at  Epworth  as  would  never  go  out.  The  fifteenth 
child  of  the  patient  Susanna  Wesley  was  paying  her  a  thou¬ 
sandfold  for  all  her  care  and  sacrifice. 

Wesley  was  building  more  chapels  in  London;  one  had 
just  been  opened  by  him  in  Seven  Dials ;  visiting  the  sick, 
going  among  the  poor,  preaching  several  times  a  day,  — . 
never  weary,  never  despondent,  never  fretting,  he  said, 
“  I  dare  no  more  fret  than  curse  and  swear.” 

Wesley  preached  without  notes.  As  he  was  about  to 
preach  in  Allhallow’s  Church,  London,  when  he  was 
eighty-five,  he  said  to  his  attendant,  “  It  is  above  fifty 
years  since  1  first  preached  in  this  church.  I  came  with¬ 
out  a  sermon  ;  and  going  up  the  pulpit  stairs,  I  hesitated, 
and  returned  into  the  vestry,  under  much  mental  confusion 
and  agitation.  A  woman  who  stood  by  noticed  my  con¬ 
cern,  and  said,  ‘Pray,  sir,  what  is  the  matter?’  I  re¬ 
plied,  ‘  I  have  not  brought  a  sermon  with  me.’  Putting 
her  hand  on  my  shoulder,  she  said,  ‘  Is  that  all?  Cannot 
you  trust  God  for  a  sermon?’  This  question  had  such  an 
effect  on  me  that  1  ascended  the  pulpit,  preached  extem¬ 
pore,  with  great  freedom  to  myself  and  acceptance  to  the 
people,  and  have  never  since  taken  a  written  sermon  into 
the  pulpit.” 

Wesley’s  style  was  always  simple  and  clear —  two  char¬ 
acteristics  of  all  good  writing  or  speaking.  lie  said, 
“When  I  transcribe  anything  for  the  press,  I  think  it  my 
duty  to  see  that  every  phrase  be  clear ,  pure ,  proper ,  and 
easy.” 

Feeling  that  relief  for  the  needy  and  Christian  consola¬ 
tion  should  go  hand  in  hand,  Wesley  divided  London  into 
twenty-three  districts,  and  appointed  visitors  to  call  upon 
the  sick  three  times  a  week,  and  relieve  the  wants  of  the 


138 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


poor.  One  rule  he  especially  emphasized  :  “Be  mild,  ten¬ 
der,  and  patient.”  Those  who  asked  relief  were  to  receive 
“  neither  an  ill  word  nor  an  ill  look.”  He  carried  this  out 
in  his  own  life. 

Once,  when  he  was  eighty,  on  leaving  Norwich,  a  crowd 
of  poverty-stricken  people  gathered  about  him.  He  had 
given  so  much  that  he  had  just  enough  left  to  take  him  to 
London.  He  said,  somewhat  sharply,  “  I  have  nothing 
for  you.  Do  you  suppose  I  can  support  the  poor  in  every 
place  ?  ” 

At  the  moment  he  was  stepping  into  his  carriage,  his 
foot  slipped  and  he  fell  to  the  ground.  Feeling  that  God 
had  rebuked  him,  he  said  to  a  friend  near  by,  “  It  is  all 
right;  it  is  only  what  I  deserved;  for  if  1  had  no  other 
good  to  give,  I  ought,  at  least,  to  have  given  them  good 
words.” 

Wesley  said,  and  with  truth,  “  Money  never  stays  with 
me;  it  would  burn  me  if  it  did.  I  throw  it  out  of  my 
hands  as  soon  as  possible,  lest  it  should  find  a  way  into 
my  heart.” 

When  asked  by  the  Commissioners  of  Excise  to  pay  a 
tax  on  his  silver  plate,  he  replied  by  letter,  “  I  have  two 
silver  teaspoons  at  London,  and  two  at  Bristol.  This  is 
all  the  plate  I  have  at  present,  and  I  shall  not  buy  any 
more  while  so  many  around  me  want  bread.” 

When  he  was  eighty-four  years  old,  the  white-haired 
preacher  spent  five  days  in  traversing  the  streets  of  Lon¬ 
don,  often  ankle-deep  in  mud  and  meltiug  snow,  to  collect 
funds  for  the  poor.  This  he  did  each  year. 

An  eminent  artist  once  asked  Wesley  to  have  a  cast  of 
his  face  taken,  and  he  would  pay  him  ten  guineas.  He 
l-efused,  but  finally  consented  and  took  the  money.  On 
leaving  the  house,  he  saw  an  excited  crowd  surrounding  an 


SUSANNA  WESLEY. 


139 


auctioneer  who  was  selling  the  furniture  of  a  poor  debtor; 
even  the  bed  upon  which  the  man  was  dying.  Wesley 
rushed  into  the  crowd,  and  asked  the  amount  of  the  debt. 

“  Te.’j  guineas,”  was  the  answer.  “  Take  it,”  said  Wes¬ 
ley,  “  and  let  the  man  have  his  furniture  again.  I  see 
why  God  sent  me  these  ten  guineas,”  said  the  devoted 
preacher. 

Two  small  houses  were  added  to  the  Foundry  for  needy 
and  deserving  widows.  A  school  was  opened  with  about 
sixty  children,  most  of  them  so  poor  that  they  were  taught 
and  clothed  gratuitously.  A  lending  society  was  also 
started,  Mr.  Wesley  begging  from  the  London  people  fifty 
pounds,  to  be  loaned  in  sums  not  to  exceed  twenty  shil¬ 
lings,  payable  within  three  months.  With  this  small  sum 
two  hundred  and  fifty  persons  were  helped  in  one  year. 
Mr.  Wesley  said,  If  this  is  not  lending  unto  the  Lord, 
what  is  ?  ”  The  capital  was  increased  later  to  one  hundred 
and  twenty  pounds,  and  the  maximum  loan  was  five 
pounds.  And  all  this  time  Mr.  Wesley  was  preaching  day 
and  night  to  assembled  thousands,  and  organizing  socie¬ 
ties  of  Christians  in  the  various  chapels.  He  had  no 
thought  of  separating  from  the  Church  of  England,  and, 
indeed,  never  did  leave  the  church ;  his  one  desire  being, 
as  he  said,  “  Church  or  no  church,  I  must  save  souls.” 

The  blessed  work  of  Susanna  Wesley  was  about  to  end  ; 
no,  not  to  eud,  for  it  was  to  be  carried  forward  by  millions 
after  her.  What  must  have  been  her  feelings  as  she 
saw  societies  and  schools  springing  up  throughout  the 
land?  Books  and  tracts  scattered  by  thousands  ;  people 
sitting  up  all  night  in  the  chapels  for  fear  they  might  not 
be  awake  in  time  for  the  five  o’clock  service  before  the 
great  preacher  left  the  town  ! 

While  preaching  in  Bristol  on  Sunday  evening,  July 


140 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMAXHOOD. 


18,  1742,  John  Wesley  heard  ot'  his  mother’s  illness.  He 
hastened  to  the  Foundry  in  London.  “  I  found  my  mother 
on  the  borders  of  eternity,”  he  writes  in  his  journal ;  “  but 
she  has  no  doubt  or  fear,  nor  a ny  desire  but,  as  soon  as 
God  should  call  her,  to  depart  and  be  with  Christ.” 

On  the  morning  of  Friday,  July  23,  as  she  awakened 
from  sleep,  she  cried,  “  My  dear  Saviour  !  art  Thou  come 
to  help  me  at  my  last  extremity?  ” 

“  About  three  in  the  afternoon,”  writes  Mr.  Wesley, 
“  I  went  to  my  mother,  and  found  her  change  was  near.  I 
sat  down  on  the  bedside.  She  was  in  her  last  conflict, 
unable  to  speak,  but,  I  believe,  quite  sensible.  Her  look 
was  calm  and  serene,  and  her  eyes  fixed  upward,  while  we 
commended  her  soul  to  God.  From  three  to  four  the  sil¬ 
ver  cord  was  loosing,  and  the  wheel  breaking  at  the  cistern  ; 
and  then,  without  any  struggle  or  sigh  or  groan,  the  soul 
was  set  at  liberty.  We  stood  round  the  bed,  and  fulfilled 
the  last  request  uttered  before  she  lost  her  speech  :  ‘  Chil¬ 
dren,  as  soon  as  1  am  released,  sing  a  psalm  of  praise  to 
God.’  ”  The  poverty  and  the  struggle  were  over  at  seventy- 
three.  These  last  days  must  have  been  the  best  and 
brightest. 

Mrs.  Wesley  was  buried  on  Sunday,  Aug.  1,  in  Bun- 
hill  Fields.  John  records  in  his  journal :  “  Almost  an  in¬ 
numerable  company  of  people  being  gathered  together, 
about  five  in  the  afternoon,  I  committed  to  the  earth  the 
body  of  my  mother,  to  sleep  with  her  fathers.  The  por¬ 
tion  of  scripture  from  which  I  spoke  was,  ‘  I  saw  a  great 
white  throne,  and  Him  that  sat  on  it,  from  whose  face  the 
earth  and  the  heaven  fled  away ;  and  there  was  found  no 
place  for  them.  And  I  saw  the  dead,  small  and  great, 
stand  before  God  ;  and  the  books  were  opened ;  and  the 
dead  were  judged  out  of  those  things  which  were  written 


S  US  AX  1ST  A  WESLEY. 


141 


in  the  books,  according  to  their  works.’  It  was  one  of 
the  most  solemn  assemblies  I  ever  saw,  or  expect  to  see 
this  side  eternity.” 

Mrs.  Wesley’s  tombstone  having  become  defaced  by 
time,  eighty-six  years  afterward,  in  1828,  a  new  monu¬ 
ment  was  set  lip  over  her  grave,  and  in  December,  1870, 
an  obelisk  of  Sicilian  marble  was  erected  to  her  memory 
opposite  the  City  Road  Chapel,  fronting  Bnnhill  Fields. 

The  triumphant  words  of  Charles  Wesley,  “  God  buries 
his  workmen,  but  carries  on  Ilis  work,”  were  true,  and 
though  the  remarkable  mother  had  gone,  the  remarkable 
sons  went  forward  in  their  untiring  labors. 

Seven  years  after  Mrs.  Wesley’s  death,  Charles,  then 
forty-two,  was  married  to  Sarah  Gwynne  of  South  Wales, 
a  young  lady  twenty-three,  of  excellent  family,  musical, 
and  well  educated.  The  union  proved  a  happy  one.  She 
survived  him  thirty-four  years,  he  dying  at  eighty  and  she 
at  ninety-six. 

The  year  of  Charles’s  marriage,  John,  who  was  then 
forty-six,  expected  to  marry  Grace  Murray,  an  attractive 
widow  of  thirty-three.  She  was  devoted  to  Wesley’s 
work,  was  gifted  in  speaking,  nursed  him  during  an  ill¬ 
ness,  and  was  offered  marriage  by  him.  She  accepted, 
replying,  “This  is  too  great  a  blessing  forme;  I  can’t 
tell  how  to  believe  it.  This  is  all  I  could  have  wished 
for  under  heaven.” 

She  was  also  loved  by  a  lay  preacher,  John  Bennett. 
Charles,  believing  that  Grace  Murray  was  not  the  one  for 
his  brother,  not  being  his  equal  socially,  and  thinking 
that  his  work  would  be  injured,  influenced  her  to  marry 
Bennett. 

It  was  a  great  blow  to  John  Wesley.  Four  days  after 
her  marriage  he  wrote  a  friend  :  “  Since  I  was  six  years 


142 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


old,  1  never  met  with  such  a  severe  trial  as  for  some  clays 
past.  For  ten  years  God  has  been  preparing  a  fellow- 
laborer  for  me,  by  a  wonderful  train  of  providences. 
Last  year  I  was  convinced  of  it ;  therefore  I  delayed 
not,  but,  as  I  thought,  made  all  sure  beyond  a  danger 
of  disappointment.  But  we  were  soon  after  torn  asunder 
by  a  whirlwind. 

‘‘In  a  few  months  the  storm  was  over;  I  then  used 
more  precaution  than  before,  and  fondly  told  myself  that 
the  day  of  evil  would  return  no  more.  But  it  too  soon 
returned.  The  waves  rose  again  since  I  came  out  of  Lon¬ 
don.  I  fasted  and  prayed,  and  strove  all  I  could;  but 
the  sons  of  Zeruiah  were  too  hard  for  me.  The  whole 
world  fought  against  me;  but  above  all,  my  own  familiar 
friend.  Then  was  the  word  fulfilled,  ‘  Son  of  man,  be¬ 
hold,  I  take  from  thee  the  desire  of  thine  eyes  at  a 
stroke ;  yet  shalt  thou  not  lament,  neither  shall  thy  tears 
run  down.’ 

“The  fatal,  irrevocable  stroke  was  struck  on  Tuesday 
last.  Yesterday  1  saw  my  friend  (that  was),  and  him  to 
whom  she  is  sacrificed.  I  believe  you  never  saw  such  a 
scene.” 

For  thirty-nine  years  Wesley  did  not  see  Grace  Ben¬ 
nett.  In  1788,  when  her  son  was  officiating  in  a  chapel 
in  Moorfiekls,  she  expressed  a  wish  to  see  Mr.  Wesley, 
lie  was  then  eighty-five  and  she  seventy-two.  Her  hus¬ 
band  had  been  dead  twenty-nine  years,  and  Mr.  Wesley’s 
wife,  whom  he  married  two  years  after  his  disappoint¬ 
ment,  had  been  dead  seven  years.  The  meeting  was  brief 
and  affecting.  He  was  never  heard  to  men  Lion  her  name 
afterwards.  She  survived  Mr.  Wesley  twelve  years,  dy¬ 
ing  at  the  age  of  eighty-seven.  Her  last  words  were, 
“  Glory  be  to  Thee,  my  God  :  peace  Thou  givest.” 


SUSANNA  WESLEY. 


143 

Wesley’s  marriage  to  Mrs.  Vazeille,  when  he  was  forty- 
eight,  proved  a  most  unfortunate  union.  She  was  jealous, 
left  him  several  times,  and  at  her  death  gave  her  money, 
five  thousand  pounds,  to  her  own  family,  with  only  a  ring 
to  her  husband.  He  had  desired  somebody  like  his  mother, 
and  the  disillusion  must  have  been  a  great  disappoint¬ 
ment.  His  habits  of  life  were  formed,  and  mutual  con¬ 
cessions  were  perhaps  difficult.  For  thirty  years  Mr. 
Wesley  did  his  work  from  this  unhappy  home.  He  re¬ 
peatedly  said  that  he  believed  the  Lord  overruled  this 
painful  business  for  his  good ;  and  that,  if  Mrs.  "Wesley 
had  been  a  better  wife,  he  might  have  been  unfaithful  in 
the  great  work  to  which  God  had  called  him.  He  out¬ 
lived  her  ten  years. 

The  amount  of  Mr.  Wesley’s  work  seems  almost  in¬ 
credible.  During  the  fifty  years  of  his  itinerant  ministry 
it  is  estimated  that  he  travelled  a  quarter  of  a  million 
miles,  usually  on  horseback,  reading  poetry,  philosophy, 
and  . history,  while  the  bridle  hung  loosely  on  the  hoi'se’s 
neck.  He  loved  poetry  and  sometimes  wrote  it,  but  his 
mother  said,  “Make  poetry  your  diversion  and  not  your 
business,”  and  he  accepted  her  advice.  He  delivered 
more  than  forty  thousand  sermons,  a  large  part  of  these 
in  the  open  air,  and  sometimes  preached  four  and  five 
times  a  day ;  he  wrote  books,  he  superintended  churches 
and  schools,  he  carried  on  a  vast  correspondence ;  he 
was  accessible  to  the  highest  and  the  lowest. 

“  When  you  met  him  in  the  street  of  a  crowded  city,”  said 
Southey,  “  he  attracted  notice,  not  only  by  his  band  and 
cassock,  and  his  long  hair  —  white  and  bright  as  silver  — 
but  by  his  face  and  manner,  both  indicating  that  all  his 
minutes  were  numbered,  and  that  not  one  was  to  be 
lost.” 


144 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Wesley  said,  “  Though  I  am  always  in  haste,  I  am 
never  in  a  hurry ;  because  I  never  undertake  any  more 
work  than  I  can  go  through  with  perfect  calmness  of 
spirit.” 

When  Wesley  was  sixty-seven  liis  beloved  Whitefield 
died  in  Newburyport,  Mass.,  Sept.  30,  1770.  The  latter 
had  intended  to  be  buried  in  Tottenham  Court  Chapel, 
London,  and  wished  the  Wesley  brothers  to  lie  beside 
him.  He  said,  “  You  refuse  them  entrance  here  while 
living.  They  can  do  you  no  harm  when  they  are  dead.” 

According  to  a  promise  made  between  the  two  men, 
Wesley  preached  the  funeral  sermon  in  Whitefield’s  church 
to  an  immense  multitude.  On  the  same  day  he  preached 
in  Whitefield’s  Tabernacle  in  Moorfields.  The  hour  ap¬ 
pointed  was  half-past  five,  but  the  place  was  filled  at 
three.  Wesley’s  text  at  both  places  was,  “  Let  me  die 
the  death  of  the  righteous,  and  let  my  last  end  be  like 
his  !  ” 

When  Wesley  was  eighty,  he  said,  “  I  find  no  more 
pain  or  bodily  infirmities  than  at  five-and-twenty.  This 
I  still  impute  :  1 ,  To  the  power  of  God,  fitting  me  for 
what  He  calls  me  to ;  2,  To  my  still  travelling  four  or  five 
thousand  miles  a  year;  3,  To  my  sleeping,  night  or  da}’, 
whenever  I  want  it ;  4,  To  my  rising  at  a  set  hour ;  5,  To 
my  constant  preaching,  particularly  in  tne  morning.” 

He  wrote  to  a  friend  at  this  time,  “  I  am  afraid  you 
want  the  grand  medicine  which  I  use,  —  exercise  and 
change  of  air.” 

Three  years  later  he  writes  that  he  is  working  on  the 
“  Life  of  Mr.  Fletcher.”  “  To  this  I  dedicated  all  the  time 
I  could  spare  till  November,  from  five  in  the  morning  till 
eight  at  night.  These  are  my  studying  hours  ;  I  cannot 
write  longer  in  a  day  without  hurting  my  eyes.”  Fifteen 


SUSANNA  WESLEY. 


145 


hours,  and  he  eighty-three  years  of  age  !  When  Wesley 
was  eighty-five,  his  brother  Charles  died.  A  fortnight 
afterwards,  when  at  Bolton,  in  reading  the  hymn,  — 

“  My  company  before  is  gone, 

And  I  am  left  alone  with  Thee,” 

Mr.  Wesley  burst  into  tears,  and  sat  down  in  the  pulpit, 
covering  his  face  with  his  hands. 

On  his  eighty-eighth  birthday,  he  wrote  in  his  journal : 
“  For  above  eighty-six  years,  I  found  none  of  the  infirm¬ 
ities  of  old  age;  my  eyes  did  not  wax  dim,  neither  was  my 
natural  strength  abated  ;  but,  last  August,  I  found  almost 
a  sudden  change.  My  eyes  were  so  dim  that  no  glasses 
would  help  me.  My  strength  likewise  now  quite  forsook 
me,  and  probably  will  not  return  in  this  world.  But  I 
feel  no  pain  from  head  to  foot ;  only  it  seems  nature  is  ex¬ 
hausted  ;  and,  humanly  speaking,  will  sink  more  and  more, 
till  ‘  the  weary  springs  of  life  stand  still  at  last.’  ” 

A  little  before  this,  Henry  Crabbe  Robinson  describes 
John  Wesley  preaching  in  the  great  round  meeting-house 
at  Colchester.  “  He  stood  in  a  wide  pulpit,  and  on  each 
side  of  him  stood  a  minister,  and  the  two  held  him  up, 
having  their  hands  under  his  armpits.  Ilis  feeble  voice 
was  barely  audible,  but  his  reverend  countenance,  espe¬ 
cially  his  long  white  locks,  formed  a  picture  never  to 
be  forgotten.  There  was  a  vast  crowd  of  lovers  and 
admirers.” 

On  Feb.  23,  1791,  Wesley  arose  at  four  o’clock  as  usual, 
and  set  out  for  Leatherhead,  eighteen  miles  from  London, 
where  he  preached  in  the  dining-room  of  a  magistrate  from 
the  words  :  “Seek  ye  the  Lord  while  He  maybe  found, 
call  ye  upon  Him  while  lie  is  near.”  This  was  his  last 


sermon. 


146 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


The  next  day  he  wrote  his  last  letter  to  Wilberforce  on 
the  abolition  of  slavery.  “  Unless  God  has  raised  you  up 
for  this  very  thing,  you  will  be  worn  out  by  the  opposition 
of  men  and  devils ;  but,  if  God  be  for  you,  who  can  be 
against  you?  Are  all  of  them  together  stronger  than  God? 
Oh,  be  not  weary  in  well  doing.  Go  on  in  the  name  of  God, 
and  in  the  power  of  His  might,  till  even  American  slav¬ 
ery,  the  vilest  that  ever  saw  the  sun,  shall  vanish  away 
before  it.” 

Each  day  he  was  failing.  On  Tuesday,  March  1,  he 
said,  “I  want  to  write.”  A  pen  was  put  in  his  hand,  but 
he  could  not  use  it.  “  Let  me  write  for  you,”  said  a 
friend;  “tell  me  what  you  wish  to  say.”  “Nothing,” 
he  replied,  “  but  that  God  is  with  us.” 

He  tried  to  speak,  but  it  was  difficult  to  understand 
him.  He  was  able  to  communicate  to  them  that  he  wished 
his  sermon  on  “The  Love  of  God  to  Fallen  Man  ”  given 
to  everybody.  And  then,  with  great  effort,  he  said,  “The 
best  of  all  is,  God  is  with  us  !  ”  And  after  a  pause,  while 
lifting  his  arm  in  triumph,  he  reiterated,  “  The  best  of  all 
is,  God  is  with  us  !  ” 

During  the  night  he  repeated  scores  of  times,  “I’ll 
praise  !  I  ’ll  praise  !  ”  In  the  morning,  at  ten  o’clock,  the 
friends  present  knelt  around  his  bed,  while  one  prayed. 
“  Farewell !  ”  said  the  dying  man,  and  passed  away  March 
2,  1791.  Remembering  the  dying  words  of  his  mother, 
“  Children,  as  soon  as  I  am  released,  sing  a  psalm  of 
praise  to  God,”  the}’  sang  beside  the  body  of  her  beloved 
John, — 

Waiting  to  receive  thy  spirit, 

Lo !  the  Saviour  stands  above ; 

Shows  the  purchase  of  His  merit, 

Reach«s  out  the  crown  of  love.” 


SUSANNA  WESLEY. 


147 


The  excitement  was  so  great  when  it  was  learned  that 
Wesley  was  dead,  that  it  was  decided  to  have  the  funeral 
at  five  in  the  morning.  He  was  buried  March  9,  behind 
the  chapel  in  City  Road. 

He  left  “  six  pounds,  to  be  divided  among  the  six  poor 
men,  named  by  the  assistant,  who  shall  carry  my  body  to 
the  grave  ;  for  1  particularly  desire  there  may  be  no  hearse, 
no  coach,  no  escutcheon,  no  pomp,  except  the  tears  of 
those  that  loved  me,  and  arc  following  me  to  Abraham’s 
bosom.” 

A  great  multitude  came  notwithstanding  the  early  hour, 
and  sobbed  aloud  when  their  precious  dead  was  buried 
from  their  sight. 

Eighty-five  years  afterwards,  in  1876,  a  mural  tablet 
was  unveiled  in  Westminster  Abbey  by  the  lamented  Dean 
Stanley,  bearing  the  faces  of  John  and  Charles  Wesley, 
with  these  words  of  John,  “  I  look  upon  all  the  world  as 
my  parish”;  his  dying  words,  “The  best  of  all  is,  God 
is  with  us”  ;  and  the  words  of  Charles,  “  God  buries  His 
workmen,  but  carries  on  His  work.” 

Southey  said,  “I  consider  Wesley  as  the  most  influ¬ 
ential  mind  of  the  last  century ;  the  man  who  will  have 
produced  the  greatest  effects,  centuries,  or,  perhaps,  mil¬ 
lenniums  hence,  if  the  present  race  of  men  should  continue 
so  long.”  Theodore  Parker  said,  “John  Wesley  was  the 
greatest  organizer  a  thousand  years  have  produced.” 

Wonderful  son  of  a  wonderful  mother!  Both  educated, 
both  saving  every  moment,  both  cheerful.  Wesley  said, 
“  I  do  not  remember  to  have  felt  lowness  of  spirits  for  one 
quarter  of  an  hour  since  I  was  born.”  Both  brave  to  meet 
every  trial ;  both  consecrated  to  the  winning  of  souls. 

“  The  world  is  my  parish  !  ”  Thus  it  has  proved.  What 
have  been  the  results  of  that  godly  training  at  Epworth 


148 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Rectory,  and  of  the  little  band  of  Methodists  at  Oxford  in 
1729? 

One  hundred  years  have  passed  away  since  Wesley  died 
in  1791 .  This  year,  1891,  the  Second  Methodist  Ecumeni¬ 
cal  Council,  with  five  hundred  delegates  in  attendance,  has 
been  held  at  Washington,  D.  C.  The  following  statistics 
were  there  given  :  Methodist  churches  in  the  United  States, 
fifty-five  thousand,  —  more  than  one-third  of  all  the' 
churches  in  our  country ;  thirty-six  thousand  Methodist 
ministers,  besides  thirty  thousand  local  preachers ;  five 
million  communicants,  and  twenty  million  adherents,  with 
a  church  property  worth  two  hundred  million  dollars. 

What  a  record  since  Francis  Asbury,  the  son  of  peasant 
parents,  came  to  this  country  in  1771,  without  a  cent  in  his 
pocket!  “  His  daily  rides,”  says  Rev.  Luke  Tyerman  in 
his  “Life  of  Wesley,”  “were  often  from  thirty  to  fifty 
miles  over  mountains  and  swamps,  through  bridgeless 
rivers  and  pathless  woods,  his  horse  frequently  weary  and 
lame,  and  he  himself  wet,  cold,  and  hungry.  For  forty- 
five  j’ears,  when  steamboats,  stage-coaches,  railways,  and 
almost  roads,  were  utterly  unknown,  Asbury  made  a  tour 
of  the  American  States,  travelling  never  less  than  five 
thousand,  and  often  more  than  six  thousand,  miles  a  year, 
and  this  generally  on  horseback.  .  .  . 

“Usually,  he  preached  at  least  once  every  week  day, 
and  thrice  every  Sunday ;  delivering,  during  his  ministry 
in  America,  more  than  twenty  thousand  sermons.  .  .  . 
Most  of  his  life  was  spent  on  horseback,  in  extemporized 
pulpits,  or  in  log-cabins  crowded  with  talking  men  and 
noisy  women,  bawling  children,  and  barking  dogs, — 
cabins  which  he  was  obliged  to  make  his  offices  and  studies, 
and  where,  with  benumbed  fingers,  frozen  ink,  impracti¬ 
cable  pens,  and  rumpled  paper,  he  had  to  write  his  ser- 


SUSANNA  WESLEY. 


149 


mons,  his  journals,  and  his  letters.”  He  died  in  1816, 
and  was  followed  to  his  grave,  in  Baltimore,  by  twenty-five 
thousand  of  his  friends. 

Besides  this  grand  record  in  the  New  World,  what  have 
been  the  results  of  Wesley’s  work  in  the  Old  ?  “  The  total 
for  the  world,  one  hundred  years  after  the  death  of  Wes¬ 
ley,”  says  the  Rev.  D.  II.  Muller,  D.  1).,  of  Cleveland, 
Ohio,  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  the  above  figures,  “is 
forty-two  thousand  itinerant  Methodist  ministers,  eighty- 
seven  thousand  local  preachers,  six  million  (6,147,000) 
members,  with  twenty-five  million  adherents.” 

Dr.  Dobbin  might  well  say  :  “A  greater  poet  may  arise 
than  Ilomer  or  Milton,  a  greater  theologian  than  Calvin,  a 
greater  philosopher  than  Bacon,  a  greater  dramatist  than 
any  of  ancient  or  modern  fame,  but  a  more  distinguished 
revivalist  of  the  churches  than  John  Wesley,  never.” 

It  was  a  blessing  to  the  world  that  Susanna  Wesley  ever 
lived,  and  the  work  of  her  and  her  noble  son  is  only  in  its 
beginning.  What  shall  it  be  centuries  from  now? 


HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 


ONE  of  my  greatest  pleasures  in  a  walking  trip  through 
the  English  lake  district  was  a  visit  to  the  home  of 
Harriet  Martineau,  “  The  Knoll,”  at  Ambleside.  The  dis¬ 
tinguished  woman  and  author  had  gone  out  of  it  by  death 
six  years  before,  but  the  sunny  rooms,  and  books,  and 
vines  were  as  she  left  them. 

The  gothic,  gray  stone  cottage  was  a  mass  of  exquisite 
color  from  the  green  ivy,  the  white  clematis,  the  purple 
passion  flower,  the  red  Virginia  creeper,  the  yellow  honey¬ 
suckle,  and  roses,  many  of  these  flowers  in  abundant 
bloom,  and  clambering  to  the  very  top  of  the  house. 

Here  were  the  trees  which  Wordsworth,  Macready,  and 
other  visitors  had  planted.  Here  were  the  narrow  stone 
steps  leading  to  the  garden,  where  I  gathered,  at  the  sug¬ 
gestion  of  the  courteous  owner  of  “The  Knoll,”  flowers 
of  many  varieties,  which  the  woman  who  belonged  to 
America  as  well  as  to  England  had  planted.  Here  was 
the  gray  granite  sun-dial,  in  the  shape  of  a  gothic  font, 
with  its  motto,  “Come,  Light!  visit  me!”  sent  her  by 
Miss  Sturch  of  London,  in  remembrance  of  a  dial  in  the 
garden  of  her  maternal  grandfather,  which  she  loved  when 
a  child. 

The  house  was  cheery  and  homelike.  On  the  right  of 
the  hall  was  the  drawing-room,  full  of  sunlight  through 


HARRIET  MARTINEAU. 
(1833.) 


HARRIET  MAR  TINEA  U. 


151 


its  long  windows,  and  rich  in  gifts  of  pictures,  statuary, 
and  books  from  celebrated  friends,  —  Florence  Nightin¬ 
gale,  Charles  Darwin,  Jacob  Bright,  H.  Crabbe  Robinson, 
Lady  Byron,  Mrs.  Carlyle,  and  others. 

When  the  mother  of  the  noble  Col.  Robert  G-.  Shaw, 
the  first  white  colonel  of  the  first  black  regiment  raised 
during  our  Civil  War,  sent  her  son’s  picture  to  Miss  Mar- 
tineau,  it  was  hung  in  a  conspicuous  place.  “  It  always 
melts  my  heart  to  look  at  it,”  she  said;  “and  think  of 
that  great  deed  that  proved  two  races  worthy  of  each 
other,  and  helped  to  save  your  land  for  both  !  ” 

Col.  Shaw  fell  in  the  attack  upon  Fort  Wagner,  on  the 
nigiit  of  July  18, 1863.  As  his  regiment,  the  Fifty-Fourth 
Massachusetts  Infantry,  rushed  on  the  double-quick  to 
the  charge,  his  last  words  were,  “  We  shall  take  the  fort 
or  die  there.”  He  was  shot  through  the  heart.  The  next 
morning  the  dead  and  dying  were  found  piled  three  feet 
deep  upon  each  other.  Col.  Shaw  was  buried  among  the 
black  soldiers,  who  showed  that  day  that  they  were  brave 
enough  and  true  enough  to  stand  among  the  free  forever. 

Opposite  this  drawing-room  was  the  study,  used  also 
as  a  dining-room,  the  walls  covered  with  books  on  art, 
education,  political  economy,  philosophy,  theology,  and 
general  literature ;  dictionaries,  encyclopedias,  annuals, 
hand-books,  —  in  short,  whatever  a  gifted  and  unusual 
mind  could  need  for  its  work. 

Back  of  these  two  rooms  was  the  only  other  room  on 
the  ground  floor,  the  large,  sunny  kitchen,  with  its  library 
for  servants  —  a  feature  which  wisely  might  be  copied  in 
other  homes. 

Above,  the  sleeping  rooms  were  as  airy  and  cheerful 
as  those  below.  Here  George  Eliot  ^Emerson,  Charlotte 
Bronte,  and  other  noted  men  and  women  had  been  her 


152 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


guests.  From  here  the  brilliant,  lonely  genius  from 
Haworth,  the  author  of  “Jane  Eyre,”  wrote  to  her  sister 
Emily  :  “  Iler  [Miss  Martineau’s]  visitors  enjoy  the  most 
perfect  liberty ;  what  she  claims  for  herself  she  allows 
them.  I  rise  at  my  own  hour,  breakfast  alone.  ...  I 
pass  the  morning  in  the  drawing-room,  she  in  her  study. 
At  two  o’clock  we  meet,  talk  and  walk  till  five,  —  her 
dinner  hour,  —  spend  the  evening  together,  when  she  con¬ 
verses  fluently  and  abundantly,  and  with  the  most  com¬ 
plete  frankness.  I  go  to  my  room  soon  after  ten,  and 
she  sits  up  writing  letters.  She  appears  exhaustless  in 
strength  and  spirits,  and  indefatigable  in  the  faculty  of 
labor  :  she  is  a  great  and  good  woman.” 

Why  do  thousands,  year  after  year,  visit  the  home  of 
Harriet  Martineau?  Because  she  was,  as  Thomas  Went¬ 
worth  Higginson  truly  says,  “  in  many  respects  the  ablest 
and  most  helpful  woman  whom  this  century  or  any  century 
has  produced.” 

Americans  will  always  owe  her  gratitude  and  honor  for 
her  attitude  on  slavery  —  a  system  which  the  South  now 
disbelieves  in  not  less  than  the  North  —  and  for  her  deep 
interest  and  aid  in  the  time  of  our  Civil  War.  The  Hon. 
W.  E.  Forster,  in  his  great  speech  at  Bradford,  England, 
said  that  “  it  seemed  as  if  she  alone  was  keeping  the 
country  straight  in  regard  to  America.” 

Harriet  Martineau,  born  June  12,  1802,  was  descended 
from  the  Huguenots,  a  party  of  whom,  after  the  Revoca¬ 
tion  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes  in  1688,  settled  in  Norwich, 
England.  Her  father,  Thomas  Martineau,  a  manufacturer 
of  bombazines  and  camlets,  was  a  gentle,  refined,  peace- 
loving  man  who,  failing  in  business,  died  under  the  stress 
of  pecuniary  troubles.  “Humble,  simple,  upright,  self- 
denying,  affectionate  to  as  many  people  as  possible,  and 


HARRIET  MAR  TINE AU. 


153 


kindly  to  all,”  said  Harriet  in  after  years,  “  he  gave  no 
pain  and  did  all  the  good  he  could.” 

The  mother,  Elizabeth  Rankin,  the  daughter  of  a 
sugar  refiner  of  Newcastle-on-Tyne,  was  a  woman  of 
strong  will,  dominant  temperament,  probably  rendered 
less  amiable  by  her  husband’s  losses  and  the  care  of 
eight  children,  for  whom  she  and  her  husband,  says  Har¬ 
riet  in  her  autobiography,  “exercised  every  kind  of  self- 
denial  to  bring  us  up  qualified  to  take  care  of  ourselves. 
They  pinched  themselves  in  luxuries  to  provide  their  girls, 
as  well  as  their  boys,  with  masters  and  schooling;  and 
they  brought  us  up  to  an  industry  like  their  own  ;  —  the 
boys  in  study  and  business,  and  the  girls  in  study  and 
household  cares.” 

Harriet  was  the  sixth  child,  rather  plain  and  sickly. 
Her  childhood  was  not  a  happy  one.  System  and  duty 
seemed  to  be  the  watchwords  of  the  home.  There  was 
little  time,  and  apparently  no  inclination,  for  words  of  en¬ 
dearment  or  appreciation.  The  father  was  too  heavily 
weighted  with  cares,  and  the  mother  too  busy  teaching 
her  family  how  to  sew  and  to  cook,  and  to  spend  every 
minute  in  work.  Time  for  everything  but  love  ! 

Mrs.  Martineau  was  devoted  to  her  children  as  far  as 
working  for  them  was  concerned,  but  instead  of  caresses, 
she  used  that  sharpest  of  all  weapons,  sarcasm,  which 
cuts  both  ways,  the  user  and  the  one  on  whom  it  is  used. 

When  Harriet  was  sent  with  sarcastic  messages  to  the 
maids,  such  as  “Bid  them  not  to  be  so  like  cart-horses 
overhead,”  she  says,  “  It  was  impossible  to  give  such  an 
one  as  that :  so  I  used  to  linger  and  delay  to  the  last 
moment,  and  then  deliver  something  civil,  with  all  im¬ 
aginable  sheepishness,  so  that  the  maids  used  to  look  at 
one  another  and  laugh.” 


154 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Harriet  was  very  susceptible  to  kindness,  and  was 
unhappy  because  she  felt  that  nobody  loved  her.  “A 
friend  asked  me,”  she  says,  “  why  my  mother  sat  sewing 
diligently  for  us  children,  and  sat  up  at  night  to  mend 
my  stockings,  if  she  did  not  care  for  me  ;  and  I  was  con¬ 
vinced  at  once  ;  —  only  too  happy  to  believe  it,  and  being 
unable  to  resist  such  evidence  as  the  stocking-mending  at 
night,  when  we  children  were  asleep.” 

Once  when  she  had  a  severe  earache,  Mrs.  Martineau 
took  the  little  girl  on  her  lap  and  laid  the  ear  against  her 
breast.  “I  was  afraid  of  spoiling  her  starched  muslin 
handkerchief  with  the  tear's  which  would  come  ;  but  I  was 
very  happy,  and  wished  that  I  need  never  move  again,” 
she  wrote  in  middle  life. 

At  another  time,  when  she  was  sent  twice  to  find  some 
cravats  in  a  drawer,  with  the  usual  remark  that  “  she  was 
more  trouble  than  she  was  worth,”  and  they  were  at  last 
found  in  another  place,  her  mother  kissed  her,  and  said, 
“And  now,  my  dear,  I  have  to  beg  your  pardon.”  The 
girl  answered  with  tears,  but  the  words  cheered  her  for 
long  afterwards. 

A  wretched  habit  seems  to  have  prevailed  in  the  Mar¬ 
tineau  home,  that  of  “taking  down”  any  member  who 
showed  any  self-appreciation.  Self-conceit  is  one  thing, 
but  a  true  self-appreciation  is  quite  another.  Let  a  child 
be  told  repeatedly  that  he  or  she  is  awkward,  plain,  un¬ 
lovely,  or  stupid,  and  he  is  very  apt  to  become  so.  The 
whole  world  loves  and  needs  encouragement.  AVe  are  not 
told  that  the  habit  of  whipping  was  indulged  in,  that  form 
of  brutality,  happily,  having  passed  away  from  most 
schools,  and  the  better  class  of  homes  in  England  and 
America. 

Harriet  Martineau  said  years  later  in  her  book,  “  House- 


HARRIET  MAR  TINEA  U. 


155 

hold  Education”  :  “  It  should  never  be  forgotten  that  the 
happier  a  child  is  the  cleverer  he  will  be.  This  is  not  only 
because  in  a  state  of  happiness  the  mind  is  free,  and  at 
liberty  for  the  exercise  of  its  faculties  instead  of  spend¬ 
ing  its  thoughts  and  energy  in  brooding  over  troubles, 
but  .also  because  the  action  of  the  brain  is  stronger  when 
the  frame  is  in  a  state  of  hilarity  ;  the  ideas  are  more 
clear,  impressions  of  outward  objects  are  more  vivid,  and 
the  memory  will  not  let  them  slip.” 

The  sternness  in  the  Martineau  household  bred  decep¬ 
tion.  Neither  children  nor  adults  give  their  confidence 
when  they  know  they  will  be  blamed.  “  In  my  childhood,” 
says  Harriet  Martineau,  “I  would  assert  or  deny  anything 
to  my  mother  that  would  bring  me  through  most  easily. 
.  .  .  This  was  so  exclusively  to  one  person  that,  though 
there  were  remonstrance  and  punishment,  I  was  never  re¬ 
garded  as  a  liar  in  the  family.” 

The  child  used  often  to  long  for  heaven,  which  she 
thought  was  a  place  “  gay  with  yellow  and  lilac  crocuses,” 
and  sometimes  meditated  suicide  as  a  way  of  getting  there. 
She  was  always  fond  of  color.  She  tells  this  incident  of 
her  childhood  :  — 

“One  crimson  and  purple  sunrise  I  well  remember, 
when  James  [her  youngest  brother]  could  hardly  walk 
alone,  and  I  could  not  therefore  have  been  more  than  five. 
I  awoke  very  early,  that  summer  morning,  and  saw  the 
maid  sound  asleep  in  her  bed,  and  ‘the  baby’  in  his  crib. 
The  room  was  at  the  top  of  the  house.  ...  I  crept  out 
of  bed,  saw  James’s  pink  toes  showing  themselves  invit¬ 
ingly  through  the  rails  of  his  crib,  and  gently  pinched 
them  to  wake  him.  With  a  world  of  trouble  I  got  him 
over  the  side  and  helped  him  to  the  window  and  upon  a 
chair  there.  I  wickedly  opened  the  window,  and  the  cool 


156 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


air  blew  in ;  and  yet  the  maid  did  not  wake.  Our  arms 
were  smutted  with  the  black  on  the  window-sill,  and  our 
bare  feet  were  corded  with  the  impression  of  the  rush- 
bottomed  chair ;  but  we  were  not  found  out.  The  sky 
was  gorgeous.” 

When  Harriet  was  seven  a  peculiar  and  unexpected 
happiness  came  to  her.  One  Sunday  when  the  family  had 
gone  to  church,  she  found  on  the  table  an  old  calf-bound 
volume  of  “Paradise  Lost.”  She  read  it  eagerly,  and 
went  to  sleep  at  night  repeating  it,  till  she  knew  the  book 
almost  by  heart. 

At  nine  years  of  age  the  frail  child  was  sent  into  the 
country  in  exchange  for  a  girl  who  wished  to  come  to 
Norwich  for  study.  This  brought  never-to-be-forgotten 
days.  Long  afterwards  she  said,  “  1  never  see  chestnuts 
bursting  from  their  sheaths,  and  lying  shining  among  the 
autumn  leayes,  without  remembering  the  old  manor-house 
where  we  children  picked  up  chestnuts  in  the  avenue, 
while  my  hostess  made  her  call  at  the  house.  I  have 
always  loved  orchards  and  apple-gatherings  since,  and 
blossomy  lanes.” 

The  youngest  child,  Ellen,  was  born  in  the  Martineau 
home  in  the  year  1811,  much  to  the  delight  of  the  young 
reader  of  Milton,  Avho  informed  a  friend  that  she,  then 
nine  years  old,  “should  now  see  the  growth  of  a  human 
mind  from  the  very  beginning  !  ” 

The  baby  Ellen  was  a  great  joy  to  Harriet,  with  her 
repressed  affections.  She  hurried  through  her  lessons  to 
get  time  to  watch  the  infant,  kissed  her  eagerly,  and,  when 
she  was  vaccinated,  “locked  her  door  and  prayed  long 
and  desperately”  that  Ellen  might  soon  recover. 

Thomas,  the  oldest  brother,  taught  his  sisters  Latin ; 
Henry  taught  them  writing  and  arithmetic,  while  Harriet 


HABRIE  T  MAR  TINEA  U. 


157 


also  took  music  lessons  and  French.  She  thinks  she  was 
indolent  naturally,  but  if  so,  she  overcame  it  wonderfully. 

She  was  an  inquisitive  child,  like  her  brother  James, 
afterwards  the  well-known  minister.  When  she  was  ten, 
and  he  about  eight,  having  heard  that  the  round  earth 
“  swims  in  space,”  they  determined  to  prove  it  by  digging 
in  their  garden  till  they  reached  the  other  side.  After 
digging  through  two  feet  of  soil,  they  came  upon  a  mass 
of  rubbish,  broken  bricks  and  pottery,  which  stopped 
their  progress.  They  then  altered  their  plan,  dug  graves 
and  lay  down  in  them,  to  learn  “  what  dying  was  like.” 

At  eleven  Harriet  and  her  sister  Rachel  went  to  a 
school  for  boys  and  girls,  taught  by  the  Rev.  Isaac  Perry. 
Harriet  read  Cicero,  Virgil,  and  Tacitus,  taking  great 
delight  in  the  latter,  especially,  and  in  mathematics. 
“  In  an  intellectual  life  I  found  then,”  she  says,  “  as 
I  have  found  since,  refuge  from  moral  suffering,  and 
an  always  unexhausted  spring  of  moral  strength  and 
enjoyment.”  * 

At  the  end  of  two  years,  Mr.  Perry’s  school  closed 
because  he  could  not  make  ends  meet,  and  Harriet  went 
back  to  the  old,  unhappy  life.  At  thirteen  she  had  begun 
to  grow  deaf.  At  first  it  seemed  an  almost  unbearable 
sorrow.  It  was  such  a  privation  as  those  only  know 
who  have  experienced  it.  But  she  made  a  “vow  of 
patience”  —  “that  I  would  smile  in  every  moment  of 
anguish  from  it ;  and  that  I  would  never  lose  temper 
at  any  consequences  from  it.  .  .  .  With  such  a  temper 
as  mine  was  then,  an  infliction  so  worrying,  so  uninter¬ 
mitting,  so  mortifying,  so  isolating  as  loss  of  hearing 
must  ‘kill  or  cure.’  lu  time,  it  acted  with  me  as  a  cure.” 

She  thought  late  in  life  that  her  great  sorrow  was  about 
the  best  thing  that  had  ever  happened  to  her;  “  the  best, 


158 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


ill  a  selfish  view,  as  the  grandest  impulse  to  self-mastery  ; 
and  the  best  in  a  higher  view,  as  my  most  peculiar  oppor¬ 
tunity  of  helping  others.” 

In  1834  she  published  her  valuable  “  Letter  to  the 
Deaf,”  which  had  a  wide  circulation.  In  it  she  says, 
“We  can  never  get  beyond  the  necessity  of  keeping  in 
full  view  the  worst  and  the  best  that  can  be  made  of  our 
lot.  The  worst  is  either  to  sink  under  the  trial  or  be 
made  callous  by  it.  The  best  is  to  be  as  wise  as  possible 
under  a  great  disability,  and  as  happy  as  possible  under  a 
great  privation.” 

Harriet  spent  fifteen  months  at  a  school  in  Bristol,  and 
then  her  education  was  considered  as  finished.  She  used 
to  rise  early  and  study  Italian  and  Latin  before  breakfast, 
and  philosophy  in  hours  stolen  from  sleep,  but  the  days 
were  spent  in  sewing,  —  making  fancy  work  when  there 
were  no  clothes  to  be  made,  —  as  this  was  supposed  to 
constitute  the  proper  work  for  women.  Even  Jane  Austen 
kept  her  manuscript  covered  with  a  large  piece  of  muslin, 
so  that  “genteel  people,”  when  they  called,  would  not 
think  she  was  stepping  outside  of  her  sphere. 

Harriet  Martineau,  though  fond  of  needle  work,  regret¬ 
ted  through  life  having  spent  such  “a  frightful  amount 
of  time  in  sewing,”  and  wasting  her  nerve  power.  “  No 
one,”  she  says  in  her  “  Household  Education,”  “  can  well 
be  more  fond  of  sewing  than  I  am,  and  few,  except  pro¬ 
fessional  seamstresses,  have  done  more  of  it,  and  my  testi¬ 
mony  is  that  it  is  a  most  hurtful  occupation,  except  when 
great  moderation  is  observed.  .  .  .  There  is  something  in 
prolonged  sewing  which  is  remarkably  exhausting  to  the 
strength,  and  irritating  beyond  endurance  to  the  nerves.” 

At  nineteen,  the  unsatisfied  life  was  to  be  somewhat 
changed.  James  was  going  back  to  college,  and,  seeing 


HARRIET  MARTI  MEAU. 


159 


that  she  was  so  unhappy  at  his  abseuce,  he  advised  her  to 
try  authorship.  As  whatever  James  said  was  law  with 
her,  she  began  at  seven  one  bright  September  morning, 
an  article  for  a  small  Unitarian  journal,  the  Monthly 
Repository ,  on  the  subject,  “  Female  Writers  on  Prac¬ 
tical  Divinity.”  She  told  no  one  what  she  was  doing, 
and  when  the  article  was  completed,  signed  it  “  Discipu- 
lus,”  and  carried  it  to  the  post-office. 

To  her  surprise  the  article  appeared  in  the  next  number. 
On  Sunday  evening  her  brother  Thomas,  a  physician,  she 
having  gone  to  his  house  to  tea,  proposed  to  read  to  the 
family  the  new  Monthly  Repository.  “They  have  got  a 
new  hand  here,”  he  said.  “  Listen.”  And  after  reading 
awhile,  he  added,  “Ah!  this  is  a  new  hand;  they  have 
had  nothing  so  good  as  this  for  a  long  while.” 

As  Harriet  said  nothing  in  praise,  he  was  surprised  and 
finally  exclaimed.,  “  What  is  the  matter  with  you?  I  never 
knew  you  so  slow  to  praise  anything  before.”  She  replied 
in  confusion,  “The  truth  is,  that  paper  is  mine.”  He 
laid  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder,  and  said  gravely,  “  Now, 
dear,  leave  it  to  other  women  to  make  shirts  and  darn 
stockings;  and  do  you  devote  yourself  to  this.” 

“  I  went  home,”  she  says,  “  in  a  sort  of  dream,  so  that 
the  squares  of  the  pavement  seemed  to  float  before  my 
eyes.  That  evening  made  me  an  authoress.” 

The  literary  work  was  continued.  In  1823  a  little 
volume  of  hers  was  published  anonymously,  called  “  De¬ 
votional  Exercises,”  which  were  reflections  and  prayers 
for  young  persons.  A  year  or  two  later,  another  book, 
which  was  a  great  comfort  to  her  father,  was  published, 
entitled  “Addresses,  Prayers,  and  Hymns.” 

Dr.  Thomas  Martineau,  the  oldest  brother,  to  whom 
Harriet  was  much  attached,  died  in  1824,  and  her  father, 


160 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMAXHOOD. 


losing  nearly  all  his  property  in  the  bank  failures  of  1825, 
died  the  following  year. 

With  these  sorrows  had  come  one  great  joy.  Mr. 
Worthington,  a  classmate  of  James’s,  and  like  him  fit¬ 
ting  for  the  Unitarian  ministry,  had  spent  his  vacation  at 
Norwich,  and  had  fallen  in  love  with  Harriet.  As  he  was 
poor,  and  Harriet  was  supposed  to  have  property,  he  had 
hesitated  to  offer  himself,  though  his  affection  was  known 
aud  reciprocated.  James  did  not  favor  the  union,  as  he 
feared  Harriet’s  strong  nature  would  clash  with  Mr. 
Worthington’s  more  gentle ;  but  love  has  powers  of  which 
James  Martineau,  at  that  time  of  life,  knew  nothing. 
The  love  affair  did  not  at  that  time  end  in  an  engage¬ 
ment,  and  both  were  anxious  and  dissatisfied. 

After  the  death  of  the  father,  and  it  was  found  that  his 
family  were  left  poor,  Mr.  Worthington  offered  himself 
and  was  accepted.  He  Avas  associated  in  the  charge  of  a 
large  church  in  Manchester,  broke  down  from  overwork 
and  previous  worry,  and  had  brain  fever,  by  which  his 
mind  became  unbalanced.  The  physician  recommended 
that  Harriet  be  sent  for,  as  her  presence  might  help  to 
effect  a  cure. 

The  mother  of  the  young  minister  sent  for  Harriet,  but 
Mrs.  Martineau  forbade  her  daughter  to  go.  Accustomed 
to  obey,  though  well-nigh  heartbroken,  the  girl  of  twenty- 
four  waited  for  some  weeks,  till  Mr.  Worthington’s  death 
made  a  visit  no  longer  necessary.  Ilis  family  were  em¬ 
bittered  by  her  apparent  neglect,  and  had  been  given  to 
understand,  by  some  mischievous  person,  that  Harriet 
was  engaged  to  another.  It  was  evident  that  somebody 
deserved  a  lifelong  remorse,  and  possibly  had  it. 

What  this  love  and  death  were  to  Harriet,  she  has  shown 
in  various  portions  of  her  writings.  In  an  essay  in  the 


H Alt  HIE  T  MA 1!  TINEA  U. 


1(51 


Monthly  Repository ,  entitled  “  In  a  Death  Chamber,”  she 
says  :  “  In  watching  by  the  couch  of  another,  there  is  no 
weariness ;  but  this  lonely  tending  of  one’s  own  sick 
heart  is  more  than  the  worn-out  spirit  can  bear.  .  .  . 
What  is  aught  to  me,  in  the  midst  of  this  all-pervading, 
thrilling  torture,  when  all  I  want  is  to  be  dead  ?  .  .  . 
Since  the  love  itself  is  wrecked,  let  me  gather  up  its 
relics,  and  guard  them  more  tenderly,  more  steadily, 
more  gratefully.  .  .  .  Oh,  grant  me  power  to  retain  them  — 
the  light  and  music  of  emotion,  the  How  of  domestic  wris- 
dom  and  chastened  mirth,  the  lifelong  watchfulness  of 
benevolence,  the  thousand  thoughts  —  are  these  gone  in 
their  reality?  ...  If  1  were  to  see  my  departed  one  — 
that  insensible,  wasted  form  —  standing  before  me  as  it 
was  wont  to  stand,  with  whom  would  I  exchange  my 
joy?” 

To  Harriet  Martineau  love  beautified  and  transfigured 
commonplace  life.  She  says,  “  In  a  Hermit’s  Cave,” 
“  Where  this  flame,  the  glow  of  human  love,  is  burning, 
there  is  the  temple  of  worship,  be  it  only  beside  the 
humblest  village  hearth.  .  .  .  Would  that  all  could  know 
how,  by  this  mighty  impulse,  new  strength  is  given  to 
every  power;  how  the  intellect  is  vivified  and  enlarged; 
how  the  spirit  becomes  bold  to  explore  the  path  of  life, 
and  clear-sighted  to  discern  its  issues.” 

Later  she  says  in  her  “Tale  of  the  Tyne,”  in  a  con¬ 
versation  between  a  young  husband  and  wife  :  “Do  you 
really  think  there  are  any  people  that  have  passed  through 
life  without  knowing  what  that  moment  was,  that  stir  in 
one’s  heart  on  being  first  sure  that  one  is  beloved?  It  is 
most  like  the  soul  getting  free  of  the  body  and  rushing 
into  Paradise,  I  should  think,”  says  the  wife.  And  then, 
in  most  expressive  language,  the  husband  voices  his  ex- 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


162 

perience :  “I  felt  ns  if  I  could  have  brought  the  whole 
world  nearer  to  God,  if  they  would  have  listened  to  me. 
I  shall  never  forget  the  best  moment  of  all  —  when  my 
mind  had  suddenly  ceased  being  in  a  great  tumult,  which 
had  as  much  pain  as  pleasure  in  it.  'When  I  said  dis¬ 
tinctly  to  myself,  ‘  She  loves  me.’  Heaven  came  down 
round  about  me  that  minute.” 

After  the  joys  and  the  sorrows,  Harriet  worked  harder 
than  ever.  She  wrote  a  “  Life  of  Howard  ”  for  the  Diffu¬ 
sion  of  Knowledge  Society,  for  which  she  Avas  promised 
thirty  pounds.  The  Society  claimed  that  the  manuscript 
was  lost,  though  she  found  afterwards  that  portions  of 
it  were  used  to  adorn  another  life  of  Howard  !  She  never 
received  a  penny  for  it. 

To  make  matters  worse,  the  reduced  business  left  by 
her  father  became  bankrupt,  and  the  family  were  left  with 
the  merest  pittance.  Harriet  had,  she  says,  “precisely 
one  shilling  in  my  purse.”  She  did  not  regard  the  losses 
as  a  calamity.  “Many  and  many  a  time  since,”  she 
writes,  “  have  we  said  that,  but  for  that  loss  of  money, 
we  might  have  lived  on  in  the  ordinary  provincial  method 
of  ladies  with  small  means,  sewing  and  economizing,  and 
growing  narrower  every  year  :  whereas,  by  being  thrown, 
while  it  was  yet  time,  on  our  own  resources,  we  have 
worked  hard  and  usefully,  Avon  friends,  reputation,  and 
independence,  seen  the  world  abundantly,  abroad  and  at 
home,  and,  in  short,  have  truly  lived  instead  of  vegetated.” 

It  was  arranged  that  tAvo  of  the  sisters  should  teach, 
but  what  could  the  deaf  Harriet  do?  She  could  seAV,  and 
at  once  she  began  to  make  fancy  work  to  sell.  All  day 
long  she  worked  with  her  needle,  and  at  night  with  her 
pen,  earning  very  little  in  both  ways. 

“The  quantity  1  wrote,  at  prodigious  expenditure  of 


HARR  IE  T  MAR  TIXEA  U. 


163 


nerve,  surprises  me  now,  after  my  long  breaking-in  to 
hard  work.  Every  night  that  winter,  I  believe,  I  was 
writing  till  two,  or  even  three  in  the  morning,  —  obeying 
always  the  rule  of  the  house,  —  of  being  present  at  the 
breakfast  table  as  the  clock  struck  eight.  Many  a  time 
I  was  in  such  a  state  of  nervous  exhaustion  and  distress 
that  I  was  obliged  to  walk  to  and  fro  in  the  room  before 
I  could  put  on  paper  the  last  line  of  a  page,  or  the  last 
half-sentence  of  an  essay,  or  review.” 

These  days  of  anxiety  wore  upon  her.  She  said,  twenty 
years  afterwards,  that  people  who  knew  her  in  the  early 
years  did  not  recognize  her  or  her  portraits  later.  “The 
frown  of  those  old  days,  the  rigid  face,  the  sulky  mouth, 
the  forbidding  countenance,  which  looked  as  if  it  had 
never  had  a  smile  upon  it,  told  a  melancholy  story  which 
came  to  an  end  long  ago.” 

She  sold  a  ball-dress  —  she  had  no  more  need  of  it  — 
for  three  pounds,  and  thus  had  a  little  spending  money. 
For  two  years  she  lived  on  fifty  pounds  a  year. 

She  told  Mr.  Fox,  the  editor  of  the  Monthly  Reposi¬ 
tory ,  that  she  could  no  longer  write  for  him  gratuitously, 
so  fifteen  pounds  a  year  were  given  her  for  her  monthly 
contributions,  —  book  reviews,  poems,  and  essays.  The 
wear  and  tear  of  literary  life  had  but  just  begun.  She 
was  yet  to  travel  over  the  old  road  so  familiar  to  most 
writers.  She  offered  her  sketches  to  editors  of  magazines 
and  publishers,  and  they  were  scarcely  looked  at.  She 
had  no  literary  friends  or  acquaintances.  In  despair,  the 
sketches  were  sent  at  last  to  the  Monthly  Repository , 
which  brought  no  fame,  and  little  money.  She  had  used 
three  stories  in  the  Repository ,  which  had  been  so  much 
liked  that  she  determined  to  bring  them  out  in  a  little 
book,  under  tin*  title  of  “  Traditions  of  Palestine.” 


1(54 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


When  these  were  going  through  the  press,  she  went  to 
London,  staying  with  a  relative.  Mr.  Fox,  knowing  how 
desirous  she  was  to  earn  her  living  by  her  pen,  obtained 
for  her  an  offer  from  a  printer  to  correct  proof  if  she  de¬ 
sired  to  remain  in  London,  thinking  that  she  would  get 
journalistic  work  after  a  time.  She  was  overjoyed,  and 
wrote  to  her  mother  of  her  wish  to  remain. 

Meantime  the  relative  had  written  to  Mrs.  Martineau 
that  Harriet  would  earn  little  by  writing,  and  that  she  would 
better  return  to  Norwich,  where  it  seemed  evident  that  she 
did  not  starve  by  sewing.  Mrs.  Martineau  was  convinced, 
and  at  once  wrote  to  Harriet,  then  twenty-seven,  a  per¬ 
emptory  letter  to  return  home.  The  relative  gave  Harriet 
some  lilac,  blue,  and  pink  pieces  of  silk,  and  advised  her 
to  make  little  bags  and  baskets  for  sale. 

Harriet  went  back  to  Norwich  with  “  grief  and  desola¬ 
tion  in  her  heart.”  The  mistaken  mother,  who  thought 
she  was  doing  the  best  for  her  daughter,  was  so  distressed 
by  her  pale  and  anxious  face,  that  she  made  Harriet  go  to 
bed,  while  she  sat  beside  her  and  talked  with  her. 

At  this  time* the  Central  Unitarian  Association  had  ad¬ 
vertised  for  prize  essays,  by  which  Uuitarianism  was  to  be 
presented  to  Catholics,  Jews,  and  Mohammedans.  Always 
deeply  interested  in  theology,  Harriet  determined  to  try 
for  all  the  prizes.  The  prizes  were  ten,  fifteen,  and  twenty 
guineas. 

The  first  essay  was  written  in  a  month,  and  copied,  so 
as  not  to  be  seen  in  her  handwriting,  by  a  poor-school  boy, 
to  whom  she  gave  a  sovereign,  which  she  could  ill  afford. 
Then  she  wrote  “  Five  Years  of  Youth,”  two  hundred  and 
sixty-four  pages,  for  which  she  received  twenty  pounds. 
After  this  came  the  essays  to  the  Jews  and  the  Moham¬ 
medans. 


HARRIET  MAR  Try E A  U. 


165 

“The  task  became  very  onerous  before  it  was  done,” 
she  says.  “  I  was  by  that  time  nearly  as  thin  as  possible, 
and  I  dreamed  of  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem,  and  saw 
the  burning  of  the  Temple  almost  every  night.” 

To  her  astonishment,  and  that  of  her  mother,  Harriet, 
though  there  were  many  learned  competitors,  received  all 
the  prizes,  forty-five  guineas  !  The  prize-money  enabled 
the  tired  woman  to  go  to  Dublin  on  a  visit  to  her  brother 
James  and  his  Avife. 

Four  years  previously,  in  1827,  in  reading  Mrs.  Mar- 
cet’s  “  Conversations  on  Political  Economy,”  she  had  be¬ 
come  more  than  eATer  interested  in  the  science, — her  two 
stories,  “  The  Rioters  ”  and  the  “  Turn-Out,”  ha\Ting  been 
in  that  vein, — and  felt  that  she  might  diffuse  practical 
ideas  among  the  people  by  a  series  of  stories  on  this  sub¬ 
ject.  She  felt  that  the  people  needed  lessons  in  economy, 
about  property,  taxes,  Avealth,  and  all  that  pertains  to 
good  citizenship. 

She  thought  out  her  plan  carefully,  —  that  of  writing  a 
series  of  brief  books,  —  and  Avrote  to  some  London  pub¬ 
lishers,  offering  the  series.  She  received  refusals  by  re¬ 
turn  of  mail.  Finally,  with  a  brave  heart,  the  unknown 
author  started  for  London  in  the  beginning  of  December, 
to  seek  personal  interviews  with  publishers. 

Day  after  day,  for  three  long  weeks,  in  the  mud  and 
fog,  she  visited  strangers,  the  indifferent  publishers  all 
saying  “  No”  into  her  ear-trumpet.  They  made  substan¬ 
tially  the  same  excuse,  —  “  Considering  the  public  excite¬ 
ment  about  the  Reform  Bill  and  the  cholera,  they  dared 
not  venture.”  “  I  was  growing  as  sick  of  the  Reform 
Bill,”  she  says,  “  as  poor  King  William  himself.” 

Night  after  night  she  worked  till  long  after  twelve 
o’clock,  determined  that  the  first  tAvo  numbers  should  be 


166 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


written,  because  she  believed  that  the  people  wanted  the 
books.  If  the  people  did,  it  was  evident  that  the  pub¬ 
lishers  wanted  no  stories  on  political  economy. 

She  kept  up  as  bravely  as  she  could.  She  says,  “  I 
was  resolved,  in  the  first  place,  the  thing  should  be  done. 
.  .  .  Next,  I  resolved  to  sustain  my  health  under  the  sus¬ 
pense,  if  possible,  by  keeping  up  a  mood  of  steady  deter¬ 
mination,  and  unfaltering  hope.  Next,  I  resolved  never 
to  lose  my  temper  in  the  whole  course  of  the  business.  I 
knew  1  was  right ;  and  people  who  are  aware  that  they  are 
in  the  right  need  never  lose  temper.” 

Finally,  she  took  one  day’s  rest  at  the  house  of  Mr. 
Fox,  and  touched  by  the  sympathy  of  the  family,  she  spent 
nearly  the  whole  night  crying.  Help  came  at  last,  as  it 
usually  comes,  —  through  friendship.  Mr.  Fox  got  his 
brother,  Mr.  Charles  Fox,  a  young  and  poor  bookseller, 
to  make  Miss  Martineau  a  proposition. 

It  was  not  a  generous  one,  as  it  saved  him  from  all  risk, 
but  it  was  something  that  he  was  willing  to  touch  the  mat¬ 
ter  at  all,  where  others  had  refused.  First,  five  hundred 
subscribers  must  be  obtained  for  the  works.  Second,  Mr. 
Fox  was  to  have  half  the  profits,  after  the  usual  book¬ 
seller’s  commission ;  and,  third,  a  thousand  must  be  sold 
in  the  first  fortnight  after  issue,  or  he  would  withdraw 
from  the  contract. 

Her  pride  rose  against  soliciting  subscriptions  for  her 
own  books,  as  she  knew  that  the  whole  labor  would  fall 
upon  her.  But  there  was  no  alternative.  She  made  ready 
her  circulars  and  sent  them  out.  By  the  advice  of  Mrs. 
Martineau,  a  prospectus  was  sent  to  each  member  of  Par¬ 
liament,  but  without  request  to  buy.  Some  kind  words 
and  orders  came,  but  .slowly.  The  husband  of  a  cousin 
sent  her  two  sovereigns,  gave  her  a  lecture  on  her  rashness 


HARR  IE  T  MAR  TINEA  U. 


167 


in  undertaking  authorship,  and  recommended  “  a  family 
subscription  to  eke  out  her  earnings  with  her  needle.” 
She  returned  the  two  sovereigns.  After  she  was  famous, 
the  gentleman  apologized. 

One  night,  while  the  circulars  were  being  sent  out,  she 
became  well-nigh  discouraged.  She  had  finished  the 
preface  to  her  “Illustrations  of  Political  Economy”  at 
two  o’clock  at  night ;  had  cried  before  the  open  fire  till 
four ;  cried  in  bed  till  six ;  fell  asleep,  but  was  at  the 
breakfast-table  at  half-past  eight,  ready  for  the  daily 
drudgery  again. 

The  first  edition  printed  was  fifteen  hundred  copies. 
At  the  end  of  ten  days,  Mr.  Charles  Fox  sent  her  a  letter, 
with  a  copy  of  her  book.  A  postscript  informed  her  that 
lie  should  need  three  thousand  copies  ;  a  second  postscript, 
four  thousand  ;  and  a  third  postscript,  five  thousand  ! 

She  says,  “  I  remember  walking  up  and  down  the  grass- 
plot  in  the  garden  (I  think  it  was  on  the  tenth  of  Febru¬ 
ary)  ,  feeling  that  my  cares  were  over.  And  so  they  were. 
From  that  hour,  I  have  never  had  any  other  anxiety  about 
employment  than  what  to  choose,  nor  any  real  care  about 
money.” 

The  whole  press  seemed  to  speak  in  Miss  Martineau’s 
favor.  The  Society  for  the  Diffusion  of  Knowledge, 
which  had  refused  one  of  her  stories  (“Brooke  and  Brooke 
Farm  ”),  now  begged  to  bring  out  the  whole  series.  Lord 
Brougham,  who  was  one  of  the  committee,  “  tore  his 
hair,”  she  says,  “unable  to  endure  that  the  whole  society, 
‘  instituted,’  as  he  said,  ‘  for  the  very  purpose,  should  be 
driven  out  of  the  field  by  a  little  deaf  woman  at  Nor¬ 
wich.’  ” 

Mr.  Hume,  on  behalf  of  a  new  society,  offered  her  any 
price  she  would  name  for  the  whole  series.  She  was  be- 


168 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


sought  on  every  side  to  take  up  various  subjects  for  treat¬ 
ment,  under  the  guise  of  fiction.  Members  of  Parliament 
sent  blue-books  through  the  post-office,  till  the  postmaster 
sent  her  word  “that  she  must  send  for  her  share  of  the 
mail,  for  it  could  not  be  carried  without  a  barrow.” 

It  soon  became  evident  that  Miss  Martineau  must  live 
in  London  to  be  near  the  libraries.  She  moved  thither  at 
thirty  years  of  age,  and  a  life  of  fame  and  honor  in  the 
great  world  began. 

“I  have  had  no  spring,”  she  said,  some  years  later; 
“  but  that  cannot  be  helped  now.  It  was  a  moral  disad¬ 
vantage,  as  well  as  a  great  loss  of  happiness ;  but  we  all 
have  our  moral  disadvantages  to  make  the  best  of ;  and 
‘  happiness  ’  is  not ,  as  the  poet  says,  ‘  our  being’s  end  and 
aim,’  but  the  result  of  one  faculty  among  many,  which 
must  be  occasionally  overborne  by  others  if  there  is  to  be 
any  effectual  exercise  of  the  whole  being.  ...  I  had 
now,  by  thirty  years  of  age,  ascertained  my  career,  found 
occupation,  and  achieved  independence.  .  .  .  Any  one  to 
whom  that  happens  by  thirty  years  of  age  may  be  satis¬ 
fied  ;  and  I  was  so.” 

She  had  promised  to  produce  a  book  a  month,  of  from 
one  hundred  and  twenty  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  pages. 
Besides  writing  her  story,  she  had  to  read  carefully  upon 
every  topic. 

Her  daily  life  was  regular.  She  rose  at  seven,  made 
her  own  coffee,  and  began  work  immediately,  remaining  at 
her  desk  till  two.  Till  four,  she  received  visitors,  who 
came  on  all  possible  pretexts, —  she  could  not  return  calls 
for  lack  of  time,  —  and  after  four  took  her  daily  walk  till 
dinner,  when  a  carriage  was  always  in  waiting  to  take  her 
to  some  distinguished  home. 

She  met  and  enjoyed  the  most  noted  people  of  her  time. 


HARRIET  MAE  TINE AU. 


169 


Hallamwas  a  valued  friend.  At  the  breakfasts  of  Rogers, 
the  poet,  she  met  Dean  Milman,  Lord  Jeffrey,  Southey 
(then  growing  old),  and  others.  The  inimitable  Sydney 
Smith  came  often  to  her  home,  —  he  was  as  fast  a  talker 
as  she  or  Macaulay,  and  full  of  wit.  It  was  always  his 
boast  that  Miss  Martineau  needed  no  trumpet  when  he 
talked  with  her.  She  said  “  his  voice  was  to  her  like  the 
great  bell  of  St.  Paul’s.” 

Hawthorne  said  of  Miss  Martineau:  “  She  is  the  most 
continual  talker  I  ever  heard.  It  is  really  like  the  bab¬ 
bling  of  a  brook,  and  very  lively  and  sensible,  too ;  and 
all  the  while  she  talks,  she  moves  the  bowl  of  her  ear-trum¬ 
pet  from  one  auditor  to  another,  so  that  it  becomes  quite 
an  organ  of  intelligence  and  sympathy  between  her  and 
yourself.” 

Richard  Mouekton  Milnes  (Lord  Houghton),  whom 
Sydney  Smith  called  “The  Cool  of  the  Evening,”  came 
often  to  see  her.  Mr.  Grote,  the  historian,  then  the 
leading  member  of  the  radical  section  in  Parliament, 
came  with  Mrs.  Grote.  Eastlake  was  home  from  Italy, 
and  most  interesting.  Landseer  was  an  agreeable  com¬ 
panion.  Barry  Cornwall,  modest  and  kind,  was  a  delight¬ 
ful  acquisition  to  auy  circle.  Mary  Russell  Mitford  came 
to  the  Martineau  home,  —  Mrs.  Martineau  had  come  to 
live  with  her  daughter,  —  and  Letitia  PI.  Landon,  before 
she  went  to  the  Cape  Coast  to  meet  her  pitiful  fate. 

Browning  she  met  and  liked.  “  He  is  a  real  genius,” 
she  said.  “  Mr.  Macready  put  ‘  Paracelsus  ’  into  my 
hand  when  I  was  staying  at  his  house,  and  I  read  a  canto 
before  going  to  bed.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I 
passed  a  whole  night  without  sleeping  a  wink.” 

She  frequently  visited  at  the  homes  of  Mrs.  Somerville 
and  Carlyle,  in  Chelsea.  She  said  of  the  latter,  “His 


170 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


excess  of  sympathy  has  been,  I  believe,  the  master-pain  of 
his  life.  He  does  not  know  what  to  do  with  it  and  with  its 
bitterness,  seeing  that  human  life  is  full  of  pain  to  those 
who  look  out  for  it ;  and  the  savageness  which  lias  come 
to  be  a  main  characteristic  of  this  singular  man,  is,  in  my 
opinion,  a  mere  expression  of  his  intolerable  sympathy 
with  the  suffering.” 

Miss  Martineau  arranged  several  courses  of  lectures 
for  him  at  a  time  when  the  money  from  them  was  most 
acceptable.  But  he  was  obliged  to  discontinue  them 
from  his  nervousness.  “  Yellow  as  a  guinea,”  she  says, 
“  with  downcast  eyes,  broken  speech  at  the  beginning, 
and  fingers  which  nervously  picked  at  the  desk  before 
him,  he  could  not  for  a  moment  be  supposed  to  enjoy 
his  own  effort ;  and  the  lecturer’s  own  enjoyment  is  a 
prime  element  of  success.” 

She  met  Coleridge,  who  told  her  he  waited  for  her 
books  from  month  to  month.  “He  is  not  sixty  and 
looks  eighty.  .  .  .  He  is  most  neatly  dressed  in  black ; 
has  perfectly  white  hair  ;  the  under  lip  quivering  with  the 
touching  expression  of  weakness  which  is  sometimes  seen 
in  old  age  ;  the  face  neither  pale  nor  thin  ;  and  the  eyes  — 
I  never  saw  such  !  glittering  and  shining  so  that  one  can 
scarcely  meet  them.” 

Her  thirty-four  volumes  were  written  in  about  two  years 
and  a  half.  She  never  believed  in  waiting  for  inspiration 
in  writing.  She  says,  “  I  have  suffered,  like  other  writers, 
from  indolence,  irresolution,  distaste  to  my  work,  absence 
of  ‘  inspiration,’  and  all  that ;  but  I  have  also  found  that 
sitting  down,  however  reluctantly,  with  the  pen  in  my 
hand,  I  have  never  worked  for  one  quarter  of  an  hour 
without  finding  myself  in  full  train ;  so  that  all  the  quar¬ 
ter  hours,  arguings,  doubtings,  and  hesitation  as  to  whether 


HARRIET  MARTINEA  U. 


171 


I  should  work  or  not  which  I  gave  way  to  in  my  inexperi¬ 
ence,  I  now  regard  as  so  much  waste,  not  only  of  time  but, 
far  worse,  of  energy.” 

She  worked  without  stimulants.  When  told  by  a  physi¬ 
cian  that  she  had  better  “  keep  a  bottle  of  hock  and  a 
wine-glass  in  the  cupboard,  and  help  herself  when  she 
fdt  that  she  wanted  it,”  she  replied,  “  No,  thank  3-011. 
If  I  took  wine,  it  should  not  be  when  alone  ;  nor  would  I 
help  myself  to  a  glass.  I  might  take  a  little  more  and  a 
little  more,  till  my  solitary  glass  might  become  a  regular 
tippling  habit.  I  shall  avoid  the  temptation  altogether.” 
Again  she  said,  “  Fresh  air  and  cold  water  are  my 
stimulants.” 

Her  books  were  read  and  talked  about  everywhere. 
Archbishop  Whately  thought  “  The  Parish”  the  best  of 
them.  After  the  “  Guide  to  Service  ”  was  written,  at  the 
request  of  the  Poor-Law  Commissioners,  so  graphic  was 
it,  that  it  was  reported  that  Miss  Martineau  had  been  in 
service  as  a  “  maid-of-all-work.”  After  “  A  Manchester 
Strike  ”  appeared,  the  people  were  positive  that  she  had 
worked  in  a  cotton  mill.  After  “  Vanderput  and  Snoek,” 
the  favorite  of  Hallam,  a  stoiw  on  Bills  of  Exchange,  it 
was  said  that  she  surely  must  have  lived  in  Holland. 

Some  of  her  works  gave  offence,  as  the  “  French  Wines 
and  Politics,”  laid  in  the  time  of  the  French  Revolution. 
Louis  Philippe,  who  had  read  the  series  and  wished  to 
have  them  introduced  into  the  national  schools,  now  ob¬ 
jected.  Miss  Martineau  was  apprised  of  his  disaffection 
and  replied,  “  I  wrote  with  a  view  to  the  people,  and 
especiall}'  the  most  suffering  of  them  ;  and  the  crowned 
heads  must,  for  once,  take  their  chance  for  their  feelings.” 

The  Tsar  of  Russia  had  also  been  delighted  with  the 
series,  and  bv  his  orders  great  numbers  had  been  bought 


172 


FAMOUS  TYPES'  OP  WOMANHOOD. 


for  the  schools.  When  “The  Charmed  Sea”  appeared, 
the  characters,  exiled  Poles  in  the  mines  of  Eastern  Si¬ 
beria, —  the  question  discussed  being  the  origin  of  the 
currency,  —  the  Tsar  ordered  every  copy  of  her  works 
burnt,  and  forbade  that  she  should  ever  set  foot  upon 
Russian  soil.  Evidently  there  were  some  matters  in  Si¬ 
beria,  then  as  now,  that  the  Tsar  preferred  should  not 
come  to  light.  Austria  was  also  disturbed  to  have  any 
sympathy  excited  for  the  Poles,  and  forbade  her  entering 
the  country. 

Some  of  her  own  nation  were  hurt  at  the  plain  but 
needed  words  on  over-population  and  consequent  poverty, 
in  her  “  Weal  and  Woe  in  Garveloch.”  But  Harriet  Mar- 
tineau  was  not  one  to  be  afraid,  wherever  she  thought  duty 
called  her. 

“Sowers  not  Reapers”  is  an  Anti  Corn-Law  story; 
“The  Loom  and  the  Lugger”  is  upon  Free  Trade; 
“  Demerara  ”  on  Slavery;  five  of  the  stories  were  writ¬ 
ten  at  the  request  of  Lord  Brougham  and  Mrs.  Fry,  on 
Pauperism  and  Its  Remedies. 

Nearly  twenty  years  after  this  time  Miss  Martiueau 
had  received  about  two  thousand  pounds  as  her  share 
from  the  little  books.  “I  got  a  hearing,”  she  says; 
“  which  was  the  thing  I  wanted.” 

Worn  with  her  arduous  work,  she  determined  to  travel; 
but  where?  Lord  Henley,  a  friend  who  was  deeply  inter¬ 
ested  in  philanthropy,  said,  “  Will  you  not  go  to  America? 
Whatever  else  may  or  may  not  be  true  about  the  Ameri¬ 
cans,  it  is  certain  that  they  have  got  at  principles  of  jus¬ 
tice  and  mercy  in  their  treatment  of  the  least  happy  classes 
of  society,  which  we  should  do  well  to  understand.  Will 
you  not  go,  and  tell  us  what  they  are?  ” 

The  more  Harriet  Martiueau  thought  upon  the  new 


HARRIET  HA  R  TIME  A  U. 


173 


world,  the  stronger  grew  her  desire  to  see  it  and  its 
people.  She  sailed  for  America  early  in  August,  1834. 
After  forty-two  days  on  the  Atlantic,  she  and  her  friend, 
whose  expenses  she  paid  in  America,  except  the  passage 
money,  arrived  in  New  York. 

Miss  Martineau’s  fame  had  preceded  her.  For  nearly 
two  years  she  travelled  East,  South,  and  West.  In  Wash¬ 
ington  she  met  socially  the  most  distinguished  persons, 
like  Webster  and  Clay.  Chief  Justice  Marshall  gave  her 
“  a  general  letter  of  introduction,”  asking  “  aid  and  pro¬ 
tection”  for  “two  English  ladies  of  distinction,”  and 
stating  that  “he  individually  should  feel  himself  under 
obligations  ”  to  anybody  who  could  be  useful  to  them. 
In  Boston  and  New  York  she  was  entertained  in  homes 
of  elegance  and  culture. 

She  came  to  America  for  rest,  and  yet  such  a  woman 
could  not  hell)  studying  our  institutions  and  our  people. 
She  found  both  North  and  South  exercised  over  the  ter¬ 
rible  evil  of  slavery.  She  saw  Garrison  dragged  through 
the  streets  of  Boston  by  a  mob  composed  of  gentlemen  ! 

Desiring  to  learn  all  that  was  possible  she  attended, 
with  some  friends,  a  meeting  of  anti-slavery  women.  She 
was  asked  if  she  would  give  a  word  of  sympathy.  She 
knew  how  the  Abolitionists  were  despised,  but  she  felt 
that  she  must  be  true  to  her  convictions,  whatever  the 
result  to  herself. 

She  rose  and  said,  “  I  will  say  what  T  have  said  through 
the  whole  South,  in  every  family  where  I  have  been  ;  that 
I  consider  slavery  as  inconsistent  with  the  law  of  God, 
and  as  incompatible  with  the  course  of  his  providence.  I 
should  certainly  say  no  less  at  the  North  than  at  the 
South  concerning  this  utter  abomination  —  and  I  now 
declare  that  in  your  principles  I  fully  agree.” 


174 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


At  once  she  met  the  usual  opprobrium  of  press  and 
people  given  to  all  leaders  in  an  unpopular  cause.  The 
world  has  never  been  tolerant,  though  fortunately  the 
despised  of  to-day  becomes  the  idol  of  to-morrow,  if 
the  cause  be  just  and  right. 

Miss  Martineau  was  called  “a  foreign  incendiary,”  and 
her  life  was  threatened,  so  bound  hand  and  foot  was  the 
nation  by  the  slave  power.  She  was  told  in  1835  by  lead¬ 
ing  statesmen,  “  that  the  abolition  of  slavery  would  never 
be  named  in  Congress,”  to  which  she  replied  that  when 
they  “  could  hedge  in  the  wind  and  build  out  the  stars 
from  their  continent,  they  might  succeed  in  their  pro¬ 
posed  exclusion.”  Twenty-five  years  later  it  was  not 
only  named,  but  its  very  name  wiped  out  in  blood. 

After  two  years  Harriet  Martineau  returned  to  Eng¬ 
land,  not  saying  good-by  to  her  many  friends,  as  she 
believed  that  she  should  return  and  perhaps  die  in 
America.  Emerson  and  a  host  of  others  remained  her 
friends  to  the  last,  visiting  her  at  Ambleside  in  later 
years,  and,  at  her  request,  an  American  lady,  Mrs.  Maria 
"Weston  Chapman,  received  all  her  papers  after  her  death, 
and  wrote  her  life. 

As  soon  as  Miss  Martineau  reached  home  she  was 
besought  to  write  a  book  on  America.  The  leading  Lou¬ 
don  publishers  called  upon  her,  and  were  eager  to  outdo 
each  other  in  their  offers.  She  must  have  recalled  those 
days  when  she  visited  them  only  a  few  years  before  when 
the  “Reform  Bill  and  Cholera”  prevented  their  even  look¬ 
ing  at  her  manuscripts  ! 

She  finally  accepted  the  offer  of  Messrs.  Saunders  & 
Otley  to  pay  her  three  hundred  pounds  per  volume  — 
there  were  to  be  three  volumes  —  for  the  first  edition  of 
three  thousand  copies.  She  completed  in  six  months  her 


II A  UR  IE  T  M.  1 R  TINEA  U. 


175 


work  called  “  Society  in  America,”  in  which  she  showed 
a  wonderful  knowledge  of  our  plan  of  government,  our 
politics,  our  charities,  indeed  our  whole  country,  with  its 
unsolved  problems. 

She  had  high  hopes  for  our  future:  “The  democratic 
party  are  fond  of  saying  that  the  United  States  are  in¬ 
tended  to  be  an  agricultural  country.  It  seems  to  me,” 
said  she,  “  that  they  are  intended  for  everything.  The 
Niagara  basin,  the  Mississippi  valley,  and  the  South  will 
be  able  to  furnish  the  trading  world  with  agricultural 
products  forever,  —  for  aught  we  can  see.  But  it  is  clear 
that  there  are  other  parts  of  the  country  which  must  have 
recourse  to  manufactures  and  commerce.” 

She  believed  that  the  time  would  come  when  the  South 
would  find  free  labor  more  profitable  than  slave  labor  —  a 
thing  now  demonstrated. 

“The  manners  of  the  Americans  (in  America),”  she 
said,  “  are  the  best  I  ever  saw  :  and  these  are  seen  to  the 
greatest  advantage  in  their  homes ;  and  as  to  the  gentle¬ 
men,  in  travelling,  if  I  am  asked  what  is  the  pecu¬ 
liar  charm,  I  reply  with  some  hesitation,  there  are  so 
many  !  but  I  believe  it  is  not  so  much  the  outward  plenty, 
or  the  mutual  freedom,  or  the  simplicity  of  manners,  or 
the  incessant  play  of  humor,  which  characterize  the  whole 
people,  as  the  sweet  temper  which  is  diffused  like  sunshine 
over  the  land.  They  have  been  called  the  most  good- 
tempered  people  in  the  world  ;  and  I  think  they  must  be 
so.  .  .  .  I  imagine  that  the  practice  of  forbearance  requi¬ 
site  in  a  republic  is  answerable  for  this  pleasant  pecu¬ 
liarity.”  Again  she  said,  “The  Americans  may  always 
be  trusted  to  do  right  in  time.” 

She  saw  and  deplored  the  fact  that  we  lacked  some 
things  along  the  line  of  education:  “There  is  not  even 


176 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


any  systematic  instruction  given  on  political  morals,”  she 
said  ;  “  an  enormous  deficiency  in  a  republic.”  It  is  only 
in  recent  years  that  we  have  felt  the  necessity  and  the 
wisdom  of  teaching  children  how  our  country  is  governed, 
cultivating  a  patriotic  spirit,  giving  lessons  upon  good 
manners  and,  in  our  higher  institutions,  upon  social  ethics, 
so  that  the  student  shall  be  fitted  to  act  upon  the  great 
questions  of  the  time. 

In  her  “  Society  in  America,”  she  advocated  suffrage  for 
women.  “  That  woman  has  power  to  represent  her  own 
interests,  no  one  can  deny  till  she  has  been  tried.  .  .  . 
The  principle  being  once  established,  the  methods  will 
follow  easily,  naturally,  and  under  a  remarkable  trans¬ 
mutation  of  the  ludicrous  into  the  sublime.  The  kings 
of  Europe  would  have  laughed  mightily,  two  centuries 
ago,  at  the  idea  of  a  commoner,  without  robes,  crown,  or 
sceptre,  stepping  into  the  throne  of  a  strong  nation.  Yet 
who  dared  to  laugh  when  Washington’s  super-royal  voice 
greeted  the  New  World  from  the  presidential  chair,  and 
the  old  world  stood  still  to  catch  the  echo? 

“The  principle  of  the  equal  rights  of  both  halves  of 
the  human  race  is  all  we  have  to  do  with  here.  It  is  the 
true  democratic  principle  which  can  never  be  seriously 
controverted,  and  only  for  a  short  time  evaded.” 

She  said,  m  her  autobiography:  “  Let  women  be  edu¬ 
cated, —  let  their  powers  be  cultivated  to  the  extent  for 
which  the  means  are  already  provided,  and  all  that  is 
wanted  or  ought  to  be  desired  will  follow  of  course. 
Whatever  a  woman  proves  herself  able  to  do,  society  will 
be  thankful  to  see  her  do,  —  just  as  if  she  were  a  man. 
If  she  is  scientific,  science  will  welcome  her,  as  it  has 
welcomed  every  woman  so  qualified.  If  capable  of  politi¬ 
cal  thought  and  action,  ■women  will  obtain  even  that. 


HARRIET  MAR  TINEA  U. 


177 


“The  time  lias  not  come,  which  certainly  will  come, 
when  women  who  are  practically  concerned  in  political 
life  will  have  a  voice  in  making  the  laws  which  they  have 
to  obey ;  but  every  woman  who  can  think  and  speak 
wisely,  and  bring  up  her  children  soundly  in  regard  to 
the  rights  and  duties  of  society,  is  advancing  the  time 
when  the  interests  of  women  will  be  represented,  as  well 
as  those  of  men.  I  have  no  vote  at  elections,  though  I 
am  a  tax-paying  housekeeper  and  responsible  citizen  ;  and 
I  regard  the  disability  as  an  absurdity,  seeing  that  I  have 
for  a  long  course  of  years  influenced  public  affairs  to  an 
extent  not  professed  or  attempted  by  many  men.” 

She  was  deeply  interested  in  opening  up  new  avenues 
for  women  to  earn  a  living.  She  said  in  the  “  Edinburgh 
Review”  for  April,  1859,  in  an  article  on  “Female  In¬ 
dustry,”  that  “  three  millions  out  of  six  of  adult  English 
women  work  for  subsistence.  .  .  .  With  this  new  condi¬ 
tion  of  affairs,  new  duties  and  new  views  must  be  adopted 
...  to  provide  for  the  free  development  and  full  use  of 
the  power  of  every  member  of  the  community.” 

At  the  suggestion  of  her  publishers  she  wrote  another 
work  on  America,  with  more  incidents  of  persons  and 
descriptions  of  scenery,  called  “Retrospect  of  Western 
Travel.”  This  was  in  three  volumes,  for  which  she  was 
paid  six  hundred  pounds.  When  she  read  the  proof  she 
said,  “  I  wish  I  could  write  a  review  of  my  book,  I  see 
so  many  faults  in  it.  There  is  no  education  like  au¬ 
thorship  for  ascertaining  one’s  knowledge  and  one’s 
ignorance.” 

The  manuscript  of  this  work  has  been  presented  this 
year  (1892),  in  his  valuable  collection,  by  Mr.  George 
W.  Childs,  to  the  Drexel  Institute  of  Art,  Science,  and 
Industry  in  Philadelphia.  The  librarian  of  the  Institute 


178 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


writes  me,  concerning  this  manuscript,  “  The  work  is  in 
three  volumes,  bound  in  four,  in  full  crushed  levant.  The 
size  is  square  quarto,  and  it  contains  portraits  of  her 
taken  in  1833  and  1850.  It  is  closely  written  in  a  legible 
handwriting,  and  is  much  corrected  with  erasures  and  in¬ 
sertions.  It  is  in  excellent  condition,  and  is  one  of  the 
important  manuscripts  in  the  collection.” 

The  Rev.  James  Freeman  Clarke  said  that  both  these 
works  on  America  “  were,  perhaps,  the  best  then  written 
by  any  foreigner  except  De  Tocqueville.  They  were  gener¬ 
ous,  honest,  kind,  and  utterly  frank  —  they  were  full  of 
capital  descriptions  of  American  scenery.  She  spoke  the 
truth  to  us,  and  she  spoke  it  in  love.  The  chief  faults 
in  these  works  was  her  tone  of  dogmatism  and  her  ex 
cathedra  judgments.” 

After  the  books  on  America  were  finished,  she  wrote 
some  valuable  articles  for  the  “  Westminster  Review,”  — 
“Domestic  Sendee,”  and  “The  Martyr  Age  of  the 
United  States”  ;  and  on  her  thirty-sixth  birthday,  June  12, 
1838,  began  her  first  novel,  “  Deerbrook,”  and  finished  it 
in  the  following  February.  The  book  went  through  two 
large  editions,  but  was  criticised  as  to  plot  and  characters. 

In  the  midst  of  this  work  she  had  domestic  trials,  —  her 
mother,  now  nearing  seventy,  was  becoming  blind,  and  her 
brother  Henry,  who  lived  with  them,  had  become  intem¬ 
perate;  and  worn  with  her  book  and  her  cares,  she  started 
for  Switzerland  and  Italy.  She  became  so  ill  by  the  time 
she  reached  Venice  that  she  was  obliged  to  abandon  her 
journey,  and  was  brought  back  to  her  sister’s  at  New- 
castle-on-Tyne,  to  be  under  the  medical  care  of  her 
brother-in-law,  Dr.  Greenhow. 

In  the  fall,  she  went  to  Tynemouth,  overlooking  the  sea, 
nine  miles  from  Newcastle,  not  willing  to  be  a  care  to  her 


HARRIET  MAR  TINEA XL 


179 


sister,  and  here  she  was  a  constant  sufferer  for  five  years. 
She  could  not  go  out  of  the  house,  only  passing  from  her 
bed  to  a  couch  in  an  adjoining  room. 

And  yet,  through  all  these  years,  while  enduring  bodily 
pain,  she  kept  on  writing.  Her  first  work  was  an  article 
in  behalf  of  Oberlin  College,  where,  happily,  nobody  is 
debarred  from  study  by  reason  of  sex  or  color  of  skin. 

Then,  believing  in  the  possibilities  of  the  negro  race  in 
the  way  of  education  and  good  citizenship,  when  freed 
from  bondage,  she  wrote  “  The  Hour  and  the  Man,”  a 
novel  founded  on  the  brave  and  able  President  of  the 
Republic  of  Haiti,  Toussaint  l’Ouverture. 

Lord  Jeffrey,  formerly  editor  of  the  “Edinburgh  Re¬ 
view,”  was  greatly  moved,  and  said,  “  The  book  is  really 
not  only  beautiful  and  touching,  but  noble;  and  I  do  not 
recollect  when  I  have  been  more  charmed,  whether  by  very 
sweet  and  eloquent  writing  and  glowing  description,  or  by 
elevated  as  well  as  tender  sentiments.  .  .  .  I  would  go  a 
long  way  to  kiss  the  hem  of  her  garment,  or  the  hand  that 
delineated  this  glowing  and  lofty  representation  of  purity 
and  noble  virtue.” 

Carlyle  wrote  to  Emerson,  “  It  is  beautiful  as  a  child’s 
heart,  and  in  so  shrewd  a  brain  !  ” 

Later  on,  Wendell  Phillips,  by  his  eloquent  lecture, 
made  known,  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  America, 
the  courage  and  the  nobility  of  the  hero  of  San  Domingo. 

Often  needing  ready  money  in  these  days,  as  she  had 
tied  up  her  funds  in  deferred  annuities,  she  refused  to  re¬ 
ceive  a  pension,  as  she  twice  refused  later  in  life.  When 
unable  to  give  money  to  the  anti-slavery  cause  in  America, 
she  did  fancy  work  to  be  sold  at  its  fair,  —  one  table-cover 
of  Berlin  wool,  wrought  in  dowers  and  fruits,  brought  one 
hundred  dollars.  —  wrote  for  its  newspapers,  and  a  long 


180 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


article  in  support  of  the  society,  when  a  number  of  persons 
left  it  because  women  were  permitted  to  become  mem¬ 
bers  !  This  reads  strangely,  a  half  century  later,  when 
educated  women  work  with  men  in  all  philanthropic  efforts. 

In  1841  %  Miss  Martineau  began  a  series  of  children’s 
stories,  four  in  number:  “Settlers  at  Home,”  “The 
Prince  and  the  Peasant,”  “  Feats  on  the  Fjord,”  and 
“The  Crofton  Boys.”  In  1843,  she  wrote,  in  six  weeks, 
“  Life  in  the  Sick  Room,”  a  book  greatly  praised  by 
Wordsworth.  A  little  later,  she  wrote  a  little  one-hundred- 
page  story,  “Dawn  Island,”  sold  for  the  benefit  of  the 
anti-corn  league,  in  their  great  bazaar,  in  1845. 

All  through  these  five  years  of  illness,  she  received 
numerous  testimonials  of  friendship.  Sydney  Smith  said 
that  “everybody  who  sent  her  game,  fruit,  and  flowers 
was  sure  of  heaven,  provided  always  that  they  punctu¬ 
ally  paid  the  dues  of  the  Church  of  England.”  Lad}’ 
Byron  sent  her  one  hundred  pounds  to  use  in  benevolence, 
in  any  way  which  she  chose.  Some  other  friends  raised  a 
testimonial  fund  of  fourteen  hundred  pounds,  and  invested 
it  for  her. 

In  1844,  she  was  restored  to  perfect  health  through  mes¬ 
merism, —  Lord  Lytton,  Hallam,  and  others,  had  urged 
her  to  try  it,  —  a  fact  which  created  widespread  discussion, 
much  disbelief  in  the  reality  of  the  cure,  a  cessation  of 
friendly  intercourse  between  her  sister’s  family  and  her¬ 
self,  but  the  greatest  joy  in  her  own  heart  that  she  could 
walk  again,  and  live,  when  day  by  day  she  had  expected 
death.  Her  “  Letters  on  Mesmerism  ”  were  published  in 
the  “Athenamin”  in  1845.  The  same  old  intolerance 
came  to  the  front,  because  she  had  not  been  cured  in  the 
usual  way.  Some  were  wise  enough  to  be  courteous  and 
open  to  conviction.  Mr.  Hallam  said,  “I  have  no  doubt 


HARRIET  MAR  TINE AU. 


18i 


that  mesmerism,  and  some  other  things  which  are  not 
mesmerism,  properly  so  called,  are  fragmentary  parts  of 
some  great  law  of  the  human  frame  which  we  are  on  the 
verge  of  discovering.” 

Harriet  Martineau  longed  to  see  trees.  She  had  not 
seen  a  tree  for  five  years,  “  except  a  scrubby  little  affair 
which  stood  above  the  haven  at  Tynemouth.”  She  re¬ 
paired  to  the  English  lake  district,  and  took  lodgings  close 
to  Lake  Windermere  for  six  months.  The  view  from  her 
windows  was  beautiful;  “  one  feature  being,”  she  says, 
“  a  prominent  rock,  crowned  with  firs,  which  so  projected 
into  the  lake  as  to  be  precisely  reflected  in  the  crimson, 
orange,  and  purple  waters  when  the  pine-crest  rose  black 
into  the  crimson,  orange,  and  purple  sky  at  sunset.  When 
the  young  moon  hung  over  those  black  pines  the  beauty 
was  so  great  that  I  could  hardly  believe  my  eyes.  .  .  . 
The  meadows  were  emerald  green,  and  the  oaks  were  just 
exchanging  their  May-golden  hue  for  light  green,  when 
the  sycamores,  so  characteristic  of  the  region,  were  grow¬ 
ing  sombre  in  their  massy  foliage.” 

In  1845,  Miss  Martineau  bought  two  acres  of  land,  and 
built  her  pretty  graystone  cottage,  half  a  mile  from 
Ambleside,  where  she  lived  until  her  death.  She  felt 
great  pleasure  in  building.  Wordsworth  came  often  to 
give  advice  about  the  new  house.  He  said,  mindful  of  the 
economy  which  most  poets  are  obliged  to  practise,  “  When 
you  have  a  visitor,  you  must  do  as  we  did ;  you  must  say, 
‘  If  you  like  to  have  a  cup  of  tea  with  us,  you  are  very  wel¬ 
come,  but  if  you  want  any  meat,  you  must  pay  for  your 
board.’  ” 

She  loved  to  take  long  walks  at  sunset,  such  walks  as 
Longfellow  used  to  take  from  Boston  to  Cambridge,  walk¬ 
ing  always  towards  the  gorgeous  light.  It  was  a  great 


182 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


pleasure  in  these  walks  to  meet  the  aged  poet  Wordsworth. 
She  says,  “  In  winter,  he  was  to  be  seen  in  his  cloak,  his 
Scotch  bonnet,  and  green  goggles,  attended  perhaps  by 
half  a  score  of  cottagers’  children,  the  youngest  pulling  at 
his  cloak,  or  holding  by  his  trowsers,  while  he  cut  ash 
switches  out  of  the  hedge  for  them.  After  his  daughter’s 
death  I  seldom  saw  him,  except  in  his  phaeton,  or  when 
1  called.  He  gave  way  sadly  (and  inconsiderately,  as 
regarded  Mrs.  Wordsworth)  to  his  grief  for  his  daugh¬ 
ter’s  loss,  and  I  heard  that  the  evenings  were  very 
sad.” 

During  the  winter  of  1845  she  wrote  three  volumes  of 
“Forest  and  Game-Law  Tales,”  Mr.  John  Bright,  from 
his  committee  on  the  game  laws,  furnishing  her  the  evi¬ 
dence.  The  books  did  not  have  as  large  a  sale  as  hex 
other  works.  They  were,  of  course,  not  cared  for  by  the 
hunters  of  game  who  found  pleasure  in  killing  animals, 
but  some  poor  persons  whose  crops  were  spoiled  by  the 
ruthless  hunters,  brought  a  load  of  sods  one  night  —  these 
were  difficult  to  get  —  and  left  them  under  her  window, 
with  a  dirty  note  on  the  pile,  stating  that  the  sods  were 
“a  token  of  gratitude  for  the  game-law -tales,  from  a 
poacher.” 

April  7,  1846,  she  moved  into  her  new  home,  and  a  happy 
domestic  life  began  at  forty-two.  She  never  wished  to 
live  in  London.  “  She  had  always  been  alive,”  says 
John  Morley  in  his  “  Miscellanies,”  “  to  the  essential  in¬ 
completeness,  the  dispersion,  the  want  of  steadfast  self¬ 
collection,  in  a  life  much  passed  in  London  society.  And 
we  may  believe  that  the  five  austere  and  lonely  years  at 
Tynemouth,  with  their  evening  outlook  over  the  busy 
waters  of  the  hai‘bor-bar  into  the  stern  far-off  sea,  may 
have  slowly  bred  in  her  an  unwillingness  to  plunge  again 


183 


H ARB  IE  T  MAR  TINEA  U. 

into  the  bustling  triviality,  the  gossip,  the  distracting 
lightness  of  the  world  of  splendid  fireflies.” 

In  the  autumn  of  1846  she  enjoyed  a  journey  with 
friends,  at  their  expense,  through  the  East.  They  studied 
Thebes  andPhilae,  Cairo,  Palestine,  and  after  eight  months 
returned  to  England.  They  had  the  rare  tact  “  to  leave 
her  perfectly  free.  We  were  silent  when  we  chose  without 
fear  of  being  supposed  unmannerly,”  a  good  lesson  for 
persons  who  feel  that  they  must  constantly  “entertain” 
their  company. 

In  1848,  she  wrote  and  published  her  “Eastern  Life, 
Past  and  Present,”  which,  Mr.  Higginson,  thinks  “  will  for 
many  years  retain  a  distinctive  value,  however  thoroughly 
the  same  scenes  may  be  explored.  More  than  any  other 
of  her  books,  it  possesses  a  quality  approaching  genius  in 
its  ready  grasp  of  details,  its  picturesque  unrolling,  its 
reverential  appreciation  of  mighty  symbols.” 

From  the  first  year’s  proceeds  of  this  book,  Miss  Mar- 
tineau  paid  for  her  home.  Her  share  in  the  second  edition 
she  gave  to  reducing  the  cost  of  the  book.  During  the  year 
1847  she  wrote  “Household  Education,”  and  in  the  fol¬ 
lowing  year  began  a  very  important  work  for  Mr.  Knight, 
the  publisher,  the  “  History  of  the  Peace,”  between  the 
years  1815  and  1845.  She  shrank  from  the  labor,  as  does 
-every,  writer,  probably,  in  beginning  a  new  piece  of  work. 
“  When  I  had  laid  out  my  plan  for  the  history,  and  began 
upon  the  first  portion,  I  sank  into  a  state  of  dismay.  I 
should  hardly  say  ‘  sank,’  for  I  never  thought  of  giving 
up  or  stopping;  but  1  doubt  whether,  at  any  point  of  my 
career,  I  ever  felt  so  oppressed  by  what  I  had  undertaken 
as  during  the  first  two  or  three  weeks  after  I  had  begun 
the  history.” 

She  rose  very  early  in  the  morning,  in  the  winter  be- 


184 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


fore  daylight,  and  took  a  long  walk.  In  summer,  she 
started  on  her  walk  about  six,  and  returned  to  her  break¬ 
fast  at  half-past  seven.  From  eight  till  three  she  sat  at 
her  desk,  stopping  to  read  her  mail  at  half-past  ten.  In 
the  afternoon,  she  walked  again,  and  read  in  the  evening, 
either  for  her  work,  “  or  Montaigne,  or  Bacon,  or  Shakes¬ 
peare,  or  Tennyson,  or  some  dear  old  biography.”  Of 
course,  she  read  the  newspapers  ;  how  can  any  woman  be 
intelligent  as  to  the  world’s  work  without  these? 

The  first  volume  of  the  “History”  was  ready  for  the 
press  in  six  months,  —  she  averaged  seven  manuscript 
pages  a  day,  —  and  the  second  volume  in  about  the  same 
time.  John  Morley  regards  this  as  “  an  astonishing  ex¬ 
ample  of  rapid  industry.”  lie  thinks  that  Miss  Mar- 
tineau  showed  her  good  sense  in  not  spending  years  over 
a  piece  of  work,  which  in  the  nature  of  things  must  be 
supplanted  by  later  historians. 

“Literature,”  he  says,  “is  no  doubt  a  fine  art  —  the 
finest  of  the  arts  —  but  it  is  also  a  practical  art ;  and  it  is 
deplorable  to  think  how  much  stout,  instructive  work 
might  and  ought  to  be  done  by  people  who,  in  dreaming 
of  ideals  in  prose  or  verse  beyond  their  attainment,  end, 
like  the  poor  Casaubon  of  fiction,  in  a  little  pamphlet  on 
a  particle,  or  else  in  mediocre  poetry,  or  else  in  nothing. 
By  insisting  on  rearing  nothing  short  of  a  great  monu¬ 
ment  more  durable  than  brass,  they  are  cutting  themselves 
off  from  building  the  useful  little  mud-hut,  or  some  of  the 
other  modest  performances  by  wdiich  alone  they  are  cap¬ 
able  of  serving  their  age.  It  is  only  one  volume  in  a 
million  that  is  not  meant  to  perish,  and  to  perish  soon,  as 
flowers,  sunbeams,  and  all  the  other  brightnesses  of  the 
earth  are  meant  to  perish.”  The  “  History  of  the  Peace” 
was  so  successful  that  Miss  Martineau  wrote  an  intro- 


HARR  IE  T  MA  R  TINEA  U. 


185 


ductory  volume,  covering  the  first  fifteen  years  of  the 
century. 

While  all  this  hard  work  was  going  forward,  each  win¬ 
ter  she  gave  free  courses  of  lectures  to  the  working  and 
trades  people  of  Ambleside.  There  was  a  course  on  san¬ 
itary  matters,  —  the  last  two  of  the  course  being  on  in¬ 
temperance, —  on  her  travels,  on  the  history  of  England, 
on  the  history  and  constitution  of  the  United  States,  and 
on  the  Crimean  War  and  Russia.  She  was  an  admirable 
speaker,  clear,  interesting,  and  eloquent. 

The  amount  of  good  to  those  persons  who,  through 
lack  of  time  or  mental  training,  do  not  read  and  inform 
themselves,  cannot  be  estimated.  Few,  like  Miss  Mar- 
tineau,  could  or  would  do  all  this  work  without  compen¬ 
sation.  It  is  cause  for  congratulation  that  in  many  cities 
in  America  funds  have  been  provided  for  such  courses 
to  the  people,  as  in  the  Lowell  Institute,  Boston  ;  Cooper 
Institute,  New  York  ;  the  Peabody  Institute,  Baltimore  ; 
the  White  Fund  at  Lawrence,  Mass.,  and  elsewhere. 

She  organized  a  Building  Society  among  the  people,  and 
showed  them  how  “  they  were  paying  away,  in  rent,  money 
enough  to  provide  every  head  of  a  household  with  a  cot¬ 
tage  of  his  own  in  a  few  years.”  She  demonstrated  this 
by  building  some  cottages  which  the  workingmen  could 
buy,  a  lady  loaning  her  five  hundred  pounds  to  begin  the 
work. 

What  she  did  in  a  small  town  is  now  being  done  in 
the  cities  of  both  Great  Britain  and  America  by  Building 
and  Loan  Societies,  and  there  seems  now  to  be  a  possi- 
bility  for  most  laboring  men,  who  are  willing  to  live  with¬ 
out  the  wastefulness  of  drink,  to  own  a  home.  She  loaned 
her  library  freely  to  the  people,  and  those  who  value  their 
books  will  know  what  kindness  of  heart  it  requires  to  do 
this ! 


186 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Ia  1851,  Miss  Martineau  published  “  Letters  on  the 
Laws  of  Man’s  Nature  and  Development,”  really  a  set 
of  questions  asked  by  her  and  answered  by  Henry  George 
Atkinson,  F.  G.  S.  He  was  a  scholarly  man  of  means, 
much  younger  than  herself,  not  known  to  the  public,  “  her 
dearest  friend  in  all  the  world,”  says  Mrs.  F.  Fenwick 
Miller,  in  her  admirable  life  of  Miss  Martineau,  and 
doubtless  ovc  rated  by  her.  The  book  was  agnostic  in 
sentiment,-  though  asserting  a  great  First  Cause.  It 
created  much  bitter  feeling,  estranging  permanently  her 
brother,  the  Rev.  Dr.  James  Martineau,  who  reviewed  the 
book  somewhat  harshly,  putting  most  of  the  blame  upon 
Mr.  Atkinson. 

Lord  Houghton  wrote  her  after  reading  the  “  Letters”  : 
“  I  am  less  and  less  troubled  about  theories  which  I  dis¬ 
approve  when  adopted  by  the  good  and  true.  Tbit  can 
hold  them,  and  hold  your  moral  judgment  and  sensibili¬ 
ties,  too.  You  are  unharmed  by  what  would  be  death 
to  me.” 

Her  next  work  was  a  translation  and  condensation  into 
two  volumes  of  the  “  Positive  Philosophy  ”  of  Auguste 
Comte,  in  six  volumes.  The  work  was  so  well  done  that 
Comte  adopted  it  for  use  among  his  students,  and  her 
book  was  retranslated  into  French.  A  friend  gave  her 
five  hundred  pounds  for  doing  a  work  which  he  had  long 
wished  to  see  undertaken.  She  used  over  half  the  money 
in  paying  the  whole  expense  of  publication,  and  shared 
the  profits  with  M.  Comte. 

A  volume  of  her  short  stories  was  published  in  1856, 
and  descriptions  of  manufactures  under  the  title,  “  Health, 
Husbandry,  and  Handicraft”  in  1861.  She  received  be¬ 
fore  her  death  about  ten  thousand  pounds  from  her 
books. 


HART! IE  T  MAR  TINEA  IT. 


187 


She  had  already  been  asked  to  do  an  unusual  work  for 
a  woman  —  to  write  “leaders”  for  one  of  the  large  ton- 
don  newspapers,  the  Daily  News.  During  the  summer  of 
1852  she  wrote  two  leading  editorials  each  week.  In  the 
autumn  of  this  year  she  spent  two  months  in  Ireland,  and 
wrote  letters  to  the  Daily  News  almost  every  other  day. 
These  were  brought  out  in  book  form  later. 

During  1853  she  wrote  four  articles  each  week,  and 
then  six,  one  each  day,  for  the  paper.  Besides  this  she 
wrote  long  articles  for  the  “Westminster  Review”  on 
the  struggle  between  England  and  Russia  in  the  Cri¬ 
mean  War,  on  “The  Census  of  1851,”  on  “Ireland,” 
and  other  topics.  She  wrote  also  a  “Complete  Guide  to 
the  Lakes.” 

In  1854,  her  health  failed,  arid  her  physician  told  her 
that  she  could  live  but  a  short  time.  She  went  to  London 
for  a  time,  the  next  year.  She  lived  for  twenty-one  years 
after  this,  however,  but  during  most  of  that  period,  she 
was  a  great  sufferer,  it  was  supposed  from  heart  disease ; 
but  after  her  death  it  was  found  to  have  been  from  a 
tumor.  She  never  left  her  home  again  in  all  these  years, 
but  with  patience  arid  cheerfulness  she  did  her  great  work. 
Sometimes  she  was  well  enough  to  go  out  upon  the  ter¬ 
race,  or  sit  in  the  porch  among  her  vines. 

“On  my  terrace,”  she  said,  “there  were  two  worlds 
extended  bright  before  me,  even  when  the  midnight  dark¬ 
ness  hid  from  my  bodily  eyes  all  but  the  outlines  of  the 
solemn  mountains  that  surround  our  valley  on  three  sides, 
and  the  clear  opening  to  the  lake  on  the  south.  In  the 
one  of  those  worlds,  I  saw  now  the  magnificent  coast 
of  Massachusetts  in  autumn,  or  the  flowery  swamps  of 
Louisiana,  or  the  forests  of  Georgia  in  spring,  or  the 
Illinois  prairie  in  summer;  or  the  blue  Nile,  or  the  brown 


188 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Sinai,  or  the  gorgeous  Petra,  or  the  view  of  Damascus 
from  the  Salahiey  ;  or  the  Grand  Canal  under  a  Venetian 
sunset,  or  the  Black  Forest  in  twilight,  or  Malta  in  the 
glare  of  noon,  or  the  broad  desert  stretching  away  under 
the  stars,  or  the  Red  Sea  tossing  its  superb  shells  on 
shore,  in  the  pale  dawn.  That  is  one  world,  all  compre¬ 
hended  within  my  terrace  wall,  and  coming  up  into  the 
light  at  my  call. 

“  The  other  and  finer  scenery  is  of  that  world,  only 
beginning  to  be  explored,  of  Science.  .  .  .  Wondrous 
beyond  the  comprehension  of  any  one  mind  is  the  mass 
of  glorious  facts,  and  the  series  of  mighty  conceptions 
laid  open  ;  but  the  shadow  of  the  surrounding  darkness 
rests  upon  it  all.  The  unknown  always  engrosses  the 
greater  part  of  the  field  of  vision ;  and  the  awe  of  infinity 
sanctifies  both  the  study  and  the  dream.” 

She  continued  her  “  leaders  ”  for  the  Daily  News,  six¬ 
teen  hundred  and  forty-two  in  all,  before  she  was  obliged 
to  resign  in  18GG,  after  fourteen  years  of  labor.  Her 
articles  were  on  America,  the  Southern  Confederacy,  In¬ 
dian  Famines,  Drainage  in  Agriculture,  Syrian  Improve¬ 
ment,  The  Morrill  Tariff,  French  Free  Trade,  India  and 
Cotton,  Loyalty  in  Canada,  and  the  like ;  in  short,  wiiat 
an  educated  and  broad-minded  statesman  would  write. 

A  series  of  articles  on  “The  Histoiy  of  British  Rule 
in  India”  for  the  Daily  News,  were  republished  in  a  book  ; 
also  a  series  of  articles  on  ‘  ‘  The  Endowed  Schools  of  Ire¬ 
land.”  In  1859  she  published  a  volume  on  “  England  and 
Her  Soldiers,”  to  aid  her  friend,  Florence  Nightingale,  in 
her  work  for  the  army.  This  year  and  the  two  succeeding 
years  she  sent  over  ninety  long  articles  to  America  for  the 
anti-slavery  publications. 

She  wrote  also,  for  Once  a  Week,  articles  on  “Repre- 


H ABB  IE  T  MAB  TINEA  U. 


189 


sentative  Men,”  historical  stories,  which  she  called  “  His- 
toriettes,”  and  on  a  variety  of  other  topics.  She  had 
also  written  many  stories  for  Dickens’s  “Household 
Words.” 

During  all  the  years  of  our  Civil  War  she  wrote  for 
four  leading  English  papers,  keeping  the  people  informed 
of  the  real  condition  of  affairs,  and  molding  opinion  in 
favor  of  a  whole-hearted  support  of  our  Union.  She  kept 
up  an  extensive  correspondence  with  statesmen  and  lead¬ 
ing  persons  in  both  countries.  The  Daily  News  was  so 
warmly  our  friend,  all  through  the  struggle,  that  George 
William  Curtis  declared  in  Harper's  Weekly ,  which  he 
edited,  “  our  children’s  children  may  well  gratefully  re¬ 
member  this  course  of  the  London  Daily  News.”  Every¬ 
body  knew  whose  clear  head  and  brave  heart  had  helped 
to  make  its  course  what  it  was. 

She  stimulated  and  aided  the  Lancashire  workers  who 
were  impoverished  for  lack  of  our  cotton.  She  wrote  for 
the  “  Atlantic  Monthly”  a  series  of  articles  on  “  Military 
Hy  giene  ”  to  help  the  Northern  soldiers,  for  whom  she 
felt  such  deep  sympathy.  She  wrote  for  (he  “  Edinburgh 
Review ”  an  article  on  “The  Progress  of  the  Negro  Race,” 
expressing  her  constant  belief  in  their  better  future.  Her 
history  of  the  American  Compromises,  which  came  out  in 
the  Daily  News ,  was  circulated  by  the,  thousands  in  book 
form.  She  nullified,  as  far  as  it  was  possible,  the  influence 
exerted  by  the  London  Times.  She  wrote  to  her  friend, 
Mrs.  Chapman,  “  I  am  abundantly  disgusted  with  Club 
and  Times  insolence  and  prejudice,  and  I  speak  and  write 
against  them  with  all  my  might.  ...  I  call  everybody  I 
know  to  witness  that  if  we  have  war  with  the  United  States 
the  Times  may  be  considered  answerable  for  it.  It  seems 
to  me  to  be  a  sort  of  crazy  malignity.” 


190 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


She  deplored  hasty  words  from  either  nation.  “One 
insulting  word,”  she  said,  “  is  sometimes  more  dangerous 
to  nations  than  even  a  hostile  deed  ;  and  always  more 
disgraceful  to  him  who  utters  it.” 

She  knew  what  most  of  us  learn  in  middle  life,  that  the 
people  who  cry  out  for  war  are  very  often  willing  to  stay 
at  home  and  cheer  on  those  who  go  to  battle  ! 

She  never  lost  her  deep  concern  for  America.  She 
wanted  to  see  our  best  men  interested  in  politics  :  “  What 
a  tine  spectacle  it  is,”  she  wrote  Mrs.  Chapman,  “  the 
higher  order  of  citizens,  the  men  of  culture,  trained 
tastes,  and  gentle  manners,  repairing  to  the  field  of 
political  action  because  it  is  the  field  of  patriotic  duty !  ” 

She  was  living  in  accordance  with  her  oft-repeated  state¬ 
ment,  “  The  real  and  justifiable  and  honorable  subject  of 
interest  to  human  beings,  living  and  dying,  is  the  welfare 
of  their  fellows  surrounding  them  or  surviving  them.” 
She  and  Florence  Nightingale  took  an  active  part  in  the 
repeal  of  Acts  ostensibly  against  vice,  passed  by  Parlia¬ 
ment  in  I860  and  1869.  The  “Westminster  Review” 
of  1870  helped  to  bring  about  this  repeal.  In  1868, 
through  the  courtesy  of  the  Daily  News ,  her  “  Biographical 
Sketches,”  published  in  that  paper,  were  put  into  a  book, 
and  went  through  four  editions  in  England.  The  book 
was  reprinted  in  America. 

The  articles  were  graphic,  analytic,  and  interesting, 
though  occasionally  they  seemed  harsh;  but  she  meant 
always  to  be  just.  “  I  had  a  devouring  passion  for  jus¬ 
tice,”  she  said  of  her  youth;  “justice  first  to  my  own 
precious  self,  and  then  to  other  oppressed  people.  Jus¬ 
tice  was  precisely  what  was  least  understood  in  our  house, 
in  regard  to  servants  and  children.”  She  said  of  Char¬ 
lotte  Bronte  that  she  had,  “  in  addition  to  the  deep  intui- 


IIARRIE  T  31 AR  TINEA  U. 


191 


tions  of  a  gifted  woman,  the  strength  of  a  man,  the 
.patience  of  a  hero,  and  the  conscientiousness  of  a  saint.” 

Macaulay,  she  thought,  as  a  talker,  “perhaps  un¬ 
rivalled.”  His  life  was  mainly  intellectual,  “  brilliant, 
and  stimulating,”  but  wanting  heart.  Those  who  have 
read  Trevelyan’s  life  of  him  can  scarcely  agree  with  her. 

The  last  years  were  drawing  nigh.  Her  nieces,  one  or 
more,  always  lived  with  her,  and  were  very  dear  to  her. 
To  her  servants  she  was  tenderly  attached,  and  they  in 
turn  idolized  the  gifted  woman.  The  life  was  still  a  busy 
one.  “  I  should  think  there  never  was  such  an  indus¬ 
trious  lady,”  said  the  maid  who  lived  with  her  during  the 
last  eleven  years  of  her  life;  “when  I  caught  sight  of 
her,  just  once  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  with  her  arms 
hanging  down,  and  looking  as  though  she  was  n’t  even 
thinking  about  anything,  it  gave  me  quite  a  turn.  I  felt 
she  must  be  ill  to  sit  like  that !  ” 

She  loved  her  work,  though  she  recognized  that  author¬ 
ship  “  is  the  most  laborious  effort  that  men  have  to  make ; 
for  I  have  never  met  a  physician  who  did  not  confirm  this 
conviction  by  his  ready  testimony.”  She  used  to  say  to 
her  mother,  when  she  had  written  ten  hours  a  day  for  six 
weeks,  “  Never  be  uneasy  about  my  writing  so  much.  It 
is  impossible  to  give  you  an  idea  of  the  increasing  facility 
and  delight  which  come  with  practice.  It  is  the  purest 
delight  to  me  when  there  is  a  fair  prospect  of  usefulness, 
and  it  is  easier  than  the  mere  manual  act  once  was.  How 
I  once  marvelled  at  the  manufacture  of  a  volume  !  Now 
I  wonder  that  those  who  once  write  do  not  always  write.” 

Later  she  said,  “How  I  love  life  in  my  study, — all 
alone  with  my  books  and  thoughts  !  Books  are  not  suf¬ 
ficient  companions  if  one  only  reads.  If  one  adds  writ¬ 
ing,  one  does  not  want  the  world,  though  it  is  wholesome 


192 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


to  have  some  of  it.”  All  her  middle  life  she  never  allowed 
herself  more  than  five  or  six  hours  of  sleep  at  night. 

She  still  kept  up  her  reading.  When  she  was  seventy- 
two,  she  said,  “  I  am  reading  again  that  marvellous 
‘  Middlemarch,’  finding  I  did  not  value  it  before.”  After 
reading  “Adam  Bede”  twice,  she  said  of  George  Eliot, 
“A  singular  mind  is  hers,  I  should  think,  and  truly  won¬ 
derful  in  power  and  scope.”  She  was  a  great  admirer  of 
Jane  Austen,  having  read  “Persuasion”  eleven  times, 
which  she  thought  “unequalled  in  interest,  charm,  and 
truth.”  She  enjoyed  Thackeray’s  “Esmond,”  having 
read  it  three  times.  “  It  appears  to  me  the  book  of  the 
century,”  she  said,  “  in  its  department.”  She  never  tired 
of  Scott’s  novels. 

When  she  thought  she  was  going  out  of  life,  twenty 
years  before,  she  wrote,  “  The  world,  as  it  is,  is  growing 
somewhat  dim  before  my  ej7es ;  but  the  world  as  it  is  to 
be  looks  brighter  every  day.” 

Her  last  work  was  the  knitting  of  a  blanket  for  a 
neighbor’s  baby  which  was  brought  to  see  her  one  sunny 
day  in  March,  187G.  She  left  a  second  blanket  unfinished. 
She  loved  children,  and  felt  that  it  was,  perhaps,  wise  that 
she  had  none  of  her  own,  as  she  would  have  idolized 
them. 

She  waited  cheerfully  for  the  last  change.  “  Under  the 
weariness  of  illness  I  long  to  be  asleep  ;  but  I  have  not 
set  my  mind  in  an}7  state,”  she  wrote  to  a  friend.  She 
thought  “  annihilation”  was  our  possible  future.  At  sun¬ 
set,  June  27,  1876,  she  sank  peacefully  into  the  rest  of 
death.  “  During  that  last  night  that  she  lay  at  the 
Knoll,”  says  Mrs.  Chapman,  “  before  being  removed  for 
her  funeral  in  Birmingham,  her  coffin  was  heaped  with 
flowers  by  unknown  hands,  even  as  she  had  filled  the 


HATtlllE  T  MAE  TINEA  U. 


193 


place  Tvitli  multiplied  blessings.”  She  was  buried  in  Bir¬ 
mingham  among  her  kindred,  with  her  name  and  dates  of 
birth  and  death  graven  on  the  stone. 

Mrs.  Chapman  thus  describes  her  friend  :  “  She  had 
rich,  brown,  abundant  hair,  folded  away  in  shining  waves 
from  the  middle  of  her  forehead.  ...  It  was  worn  low 
over  the  eyes,  like  the  Greek  brows  ;  and  embossed  rather 
than  graven  by  the  workings  of  thought.  [Her  hair  be¬ 
came  white  before  her  death.]  The  eyes  themselves  were 
light  and  full,  of  a  grayish,  greenish  blue,  varying  in  color 
with  the  time  of  day  or  with  the  eye  of  the  beholder. 
They  rvere  steadily  and  quietly  alert,  as  if  constantly 
seeing  something  where  another  would  have  found  nothing 
to  notice.  Her  habitual  expression  was  one  of  serene 
and  self-sufficing  dignity  —  the  look  of  perfect  and  benev¬ 
olent  repose  that  comes  to  those  whose  long,  unselfish 
struggle  to  wring  its  best  from  life  has  been  crowned  with 
complete  victory.  You  might  walk  the  livelong  day  in 
any  city  streets,  and  not  meet  such  a  face  of  simple,  cheer¬ 
ful  strength,  with  so  much  light  and  sweetness  in  its  play 
of  feature.” 

Miss  Martineau’s  death  caused  mourning  in  thousands 
of  hearts.  Florence  Nightingale,  with  her  sublime  faith, 
said,  “  I  know  what  her  opinions  were,  and  for  a  long 
time  I  have  thought  how  great  will  be  the  surprise  to 
her,  —  a  glorious  surprise.  She  served  the  Right,  that  is, 
God,  all  her  life.  How  few  of  those  who  cry,  ‘  Lord, 
Lord,’  served  the  Lord  so  well  and  so  wisely  !  .  .  .  She 
is  gone  to  our  Lord  and  her  Lord.  Made  ripe  for  her  and 
our  Father’s  house.” 

On  this  side  the  ocean  the  sorrow  was  not  less  genuine 
and  the  honor  not  less  universal.  The  Nation  said,  “One 
looks  in  vain.,  indeed,  for  a  parallel  to  this  remarkable 


194 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


woman  as  a  molder  of  public  opinion  through  the  press 
and  through  printed  works.” 

Americans  did  not  forget  her  noble  efforts  in  their 
behalf.  The  citizens  of  New  York  sent  her,  while  living, 
a  set  of  the  “  Rebellion  Record,”  published  by  Putnam. 
The  Hon.  Henry  Wilson  sent  her  his  “  Slave  Power  in 
America,”  “with  the  gratitude  of  the  author  for  her 
friendship  for  his  country,  and  her  devotion  to  freedom.” 

After  her  death,  funds  were  raised  by  public  subscrip¬ 
tion  in  America  for  a  statue  of  her  in  -white  marble,  which 
has  been  executed  by  the  sculptor,  Anne  Whitney,  of 
Boston.  It  represents  Miss  Martineau  seated,  with  her 
hands  folded  over  a  manuscript  on  her  knees. 

The  statue  was  unveiled  in  the  Old  South  Church,  Dec. 
26,  1883,  Mary  A.  Livermore  presiding,  and  William 
Lloyd  Garrison,  Jr.,  and  Wendell  Phillips  making  ad¬ 
dresses.  It  proved  to  be  the  last  public  speech  of  Mr. 
Phillips,  who  died  six  weeks  later. 

He  spoke  with  his  usual  fervor  and  unsurpassed  grace. 
“  When  a  moral  issue  is  stirred,”  he  said,  “  then  there  is 
no  American,  no  German,  we  are  all  men  and  women. 
.  .  .  In  an  epoch  fertile  of  great  genius  among  women, 
it  may  be  said  of  Miss  Martineau,  that  she  was  the  peer 
of  the  noblest,  and  that  her  influence  on  the  progress  of 
the  age  was  more  than  equal  to  that  of  all  the  others 
combined.  ...  It  is  easy  to  be  independent  when  all 
behind  you  agree  with  you,  but  the  difficulty  comes  when 
nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  of  your  friends  think  you 
wrong.  Then  it  is  the  brave  soul  who  stands  up,  one 
among  a  thousand,  but  remembering  that  one  with  God 
makes  a  majority.  This  was  Harriet  Martineau.  .  .  . 

“  She  was  always  the  friend  of  the  poor.  Prisoner, 
slave,  wage-serf,  worn  out  by  toil  in  the  mill,  no  matter 


HARRIET  MAR  TINEA  U. 


195 


who  the  sufferer,  there  was  always  one  person  who  could 
influence  Tory  and  Liberal  to  listen.  .  .  .  We  want  our 
children  to  see  the  woman  who  came  to  observe,  and 
remained  to  work,  and,  having  once  put  her  hand  to  the 
plough,  persevered  until  she  was  allowed  to  live  when  the 
paean  of  the  emancipated  four  millions  went  up  to  heaven, 
sharing  the  attainment  of  her  great  desire.” 


JENNY  LIND. 


“  /’"'i  RE  AT  as  was  the  wonder  of  seeing  a  whole  popu- 
lation  thus  bewitched  by  one  simple  Swedish  girl, 
it  sinks  into  nothing  before  the  wonder  of  herself. 

“  Yon  have  seen  her,  and  therefore  you  can  appreciate 
the  grace,  the  dignity,  the  joyousness,  the  touching  pathos 
of  her  entrance  ;  her  attitude,  her  courtesies,  her  voice.  .  .  . 

“You  must  conceive  a  character  corresponding  to  all 
this,  and  transpiring  through  a  thousand  traits  of  humil¬ 
ity,  gentleness,  thoughtfulness,  wisdom,  piety.  The  man¬ 
ners  of  a  princess  with  the  simplicity  of  a  child,  and  the 
goodness  of  an  angel.  .  .  .  She  came  on  Tuesday  night, 
and  is  gone  this  evening ;  and  it  seems  quite  a  blank,  as 
if  a  heavenly  visitant  had  departed.” 

Thus  wrote  Arthur  Penrhyn  Stanley,  afterwards  Dean 
of  Westminster,  to  a  friend,  Sept.  22,  1847. 

Mendelssohn  said,  “  I  have  never  in  my  life  met  so 
noble,  so  true  and  real  an  art  nature  as  Jenny  Lind  is. 
I  have  never  found  natural  gifts,  study,  and  sympathetic 
warmth  united  in  such  a  degree  ;  and  although  one  or  the 
other  quality  may  have  appeared  more  prominently  in  this 
or  the  other  case,  I  do  not  believe  that  they  have  ever 
been  found  united  in  such  potency.” 

Mendelssohn  told  Hans  Andersen,  “  There  will  not 
be  born,  in  a  whole  century,  another  being  so  gifted  as 
she.” 


JENNY  LIND. 


JENNY  LIND. 


197 


To  Andersen,  Jenny  Lind  was  an  inspiration.  He 
said,  “Through  Jenny  Lind  I  first  became  sensible  of 
the  holiness  of  Art.  Through  her  I  learned  that  one 
must  forget  one’s  self  in  the  service  of  the  Supreme. 
No  books,  no  men,  have  had  a  more  ennobling  influence 
upon  me,  as  a  poet,  than  Jenny  Lind.  .  .  .  She  is  happy  — 
belonging,  as  it  were,  no  longer  to  the  world.  A  peace¬ 
ful,  quiet  home  is  the  object  of  her  thoughts;  yet  she 
loves  Art  with  her  whole  soul,  and  feels  her  vocation  in 
it.  A  noble,  pious  disposition  like  hers  cannot  be  spoiled 
by  homage.” 

Frederika  Bremer  called  her  “  a  great  artist,  but  still 
greater  in  her  pure,  human  existence.” 

Jenny  Lind  fills  a  unique  place  among  the  world’s  great 
artists.  She  was  gifted  to  a  marvellous  extent  in  voice. 
She  was  not  beautiful  in  face,  though  Sir  Julius  Benedict 
said  that  when  she  was  inspired  with  her  theme,  “  her 
whole  face  lighted  up  and  became  perfectly  beautiful.” 
She  was  the  idol  of  the  public,  not  simply  on  account  of 
her  talent,  for  many  are  talented,  but  also  because  she 
was  a  veritable  prince  among  givers,  and  the  guardian 
angel  of  the  poor  and  the  unfortunate. 

She  was  born  in  Stockholm,  Sweden,  Oct.  6,  1820. 
Her  father,  the  sen  of  a  lace-maker,  was  a  good-natured 
but  weak  man,  unable  to  provide  for  his  wife  and  child. 
He  had  a  good  voice,  and  enjoyed  music  of  “  a  free  and 
convivial  kind.” 

Her  mother  was  a  woman  of  great  energy  and  deter¬ 
mination,  who,  being  obliged  to  care  for  the  child  of  a 
former  unhappy  marriage,  and  in  addition  the  husband 
and  child  of  a  second  marriage,  by  teaching  school,  had 
lost  much  of  her  natural  sweetness  of  disposition  through 
stern  contact  with  poverty. 


198 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


The  mother  could  not  care  for  the  child  and  teach,  so 
Jenny  was  boarded  for  three  years  with  a  church  organ¬ 
ist  a  few  miles  out  of  Stockholm.  At  this  early  age  she 
showed  a  love  for  the  country,  a  passion  for  the  singing 
of  birds,  and  for  trees  and  wild  flowers,  which  continued 
through  life. 

After  her  return  to  Stockholm  she  attended  the  school 
kept  by  her  mother,  and  found  much  comfort  and  com¬ 
panionship  in  her  grandmother.  The  latter  first  dis¬ 
covered  that  Jenny  had  a  voice  for  singing. 

Having  heard  some  military  bugles  in  the  street,  the 
child  crept  to  the  piano  one  day,  thinking  that  she  was 
alone  in  the  house,  and  picked  out  the  air  which  she  had 
heard  the  soldiers  play. 

The  grandmother,  hearing  the  music,  called  out  the 
name  of  the  half-sister,  Amalia,  supposing  that  it  was  she. 
Jenny  hid  under  the  piano  in  terror.  When  her  grand¬ 
mother  found  her,  she  exclaimed,  astonished,  “Child, 
was  that  you  ?  ”  The  girl  confessed  in  tears.  When  the 
mother  returned,  the  grandmother  said,  “  Mark  my  words, 
that  child  will  bring  you  help.” 

Fru  Lind’s  school  did  not  pay  —  it  was  the  old  struggle 
of  the  poor  to  make  ends  meet  —  and  she  determined  to 
become  a  governess,  taking  Amalia  with  her.  The  grand¬ 
mother  went  to  the  Widow’s  Home,  taking  Jenny  with  her. 

The  child  was  not  old  enough  to  realize  much  about 
privation,  and  as  she  said  in  after  life,  “  sang  with  every 
step  I  took,  and  with  every  jump  my  feet  made.”  She 
had  a  pet  cat,  with  a  blue  ribbon  around  its  neck,  to  which 
she  sang  almost  constantly. 

Jenny  land,  at  Cannes,  in  1887,  a  little  before  her 
death,  thus  spoke  of  these  early  days  to  her  eldest  sou  : 
“  Her  favorite  seat  with  her  cat  was  in  the  window  of  the 


JENNY  LIND. 


199 


steward’s  rooms,  which  look  out  on  the  lively  street  lead¬ 
ing  up  to  the  Church  of  St.  Jacob’s,  and  there  she  sat 
and  sang  to  it ;  and  the  people  passing  in  the  street  used 
to  hear,  and  wonder ;  and  amongst  others  the  maid  of  a 
Mademoiselle  Lundberg,  a  dancer  at  the  Royal  Opera 
House ;  and  the  maid  told  her  mistress  that  she  had 
never  heard  such  beautiful  singing  as  this  little  girl  sang 
to  her  cat. 

..  “  Mademoiselle  Lundberg  thereupon  found  out  who  she 
was,  and  sent  to  ask  her  mother,  who  seems  to  have  been 
in  Stockholm  at  the  time,  to  bring  her  to  sing  to  her. 
And,  when  she  heard  her  sing,  she  said,  ‘  The  child  is  a 
genius;  you  must  have  her  educated  for  the  stage.’  But 
Jenny’s  mother,  as  well  as  her  grandmother,  had  an  old- 
fashioned  prejudice  against  the  stage,  and  she  would  not 
hear  of  this. 

“  ‘  Then  you  must,  at  any  rate,  have  her  taught  sing¬ 
ing,’  said  Mademoiselle  Lundberg;  and  the  mother  was 
persuaded,  in  this  way,  to  accept  a  letter  of  introduction 
to  Herr  Crcelius,  the  court  secretary  and  singing-master 
at  the  Royal  Theatre. 

“Off  with  the  letter  they  started,  but  as  they  went  up 
the  broad  steps  of  the  Opera  House,  the  mother  was 
again  troubled  by  her  doubts  and  repugnance.  She  no 
doubt  had  all  the  inherited  dislike  of  the  burgher  families 
to  the  dramatic  life.  But  little  Jenny  eagerly  urged  her 
to  go  on,  and  they  entered  the  room  where  Cra?lius 
sat ;  and  the  child  sang  him  something  out  of  an  opera 
composed  by  Winter. 

“Crcelius  was  moved  to  tears,  and  said  he  must  take 
her  in  to  Count  Puke,  the  head  of  the  Royal  Theatre,  and 
tell  him  what  a  treasure  he  had  found.  And  they  went  at 
once,  and  Count  Puke’s  first  cpiestion  was,  ‘  How  old  is 


200 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


she?’  and  Crcelius  answered.  ‘  Nine  years  old.’  ‘Nine!’ 
exclaimed  the  count;  ‘but  this  is  not  a  creche!  It  is 
the  king’s  theatre  !  ’  And  he  would  not  look  at  her,  she 
being,  moreover,  at  that  time,  what  she  herself  (in  her  let¬ 
ter  to  the  ‘  Biographical  Lexicon  ’)  calls  ‘  a  small,  ugly, 
broad-nosed,  shy,  gauche ,  under-grown  girl !  ’ 

“  ‘  Well,’  said  Crcelius,  ‘  if  the  count  will  not  hear  her, 
then  I  will  teach  her  gratuitously  myself,  and  she  will  one 
day  astonish  you  !  ’  Then  Count  Puke  consented  to  h§ar 
her  sing  ;  and,  when  she  sang,  he  too  was  moved  to  tears  ; 
and  from  that  moment  she  was  accepted,  and  was  taken 
and  taught  to  sing,  and  educated,  and  brought  up  at  the 
Government  expense.” 

Nearly  twenty  years  later,  when  her  name  was  on  every 
lip,  and  the  good  Crcelius  was  near  his  death,  he  wrote  in 
answer  to  a  letter  of  gratitude  from  her,  “  My  interest  in 
you  is,  and  will  alwaj's  remain,  the  most  genuine.  Your 
honor,  your  success  will  be  the  comfort  of  my  old  age  and 
a  balm  for  my  sufferings.” 

For  ten  years  Jenny  studied  and  acted  at  the  Royal 
Theatre.  The  pupils  boarded  at  various  homes  in  the 
city,  the  theatre  paying  for  food  and  clothes,  and  as  Fru 
Lind  had  given  up  her  position  as  governess  and  returned 
to  Stockholm,  she  took  her  own  child,  among  others,  to 
board.  At  the  theatre  the  girl  was  taught  singing,  elocu¬ 
tion,  dancing,  and  other  matters  necessary  for  her  pro¬ 
fession,  while  her  mother  agreed  to  see  that  she  was 
taught  the  piano,  French,  history,  geography,  and  other 
studies. 

German  she  did  not  learn  till  she  was  twenty-four,  but 
she  pronounced  it  beautifully,  and  N.  P.  Willis  said,  when 
she  was  in  America,  “She  is  a  perfect  mistress  of  French, 
and  speaks  English  very  sweetly.” 


JENNY  LIND. 


201 


These  early  years,  full  of  hard  work,  were  not  very 
happy  ones  for  the  young  girl.  The  mother,  with  her 
burdens  and  discouragements,  was  probably  irritable,  and 
Jenny,  unable  to  bear  the  friction  of  home  life  any  longer, 
ran  away.  After  a  law-suit  between  the  impecunious 
Linds,  who  needed  the  board-money,  and  the  directors  of 
the  theatre,  the  child  was  returned  to  her  parents,  to 
whom,  unfortunately,  she  legally  belonged. 

Still  the  girl  was  fond  of  her  mother,  and  when  she 
died  in  1851,  when  Jenny  was  in  America,  the  latter  wrote 
to  a  friend  in  Sweden:  “  My  mother’s  death  I  have  felt 
most  bitterly;  everything  was  now  smooth  and  nice  be¬ 
tween  us ;  I  was  in  hopes  that  she  would  have  been 
spared  for  many  a  long  year ;  .  .  .  and  that,  now  that 
she  was  quieter  and  more  reasonable,  I  might  have  sur¬ 
rounded  her  old  age  with  joy,  and  peace,  and  tender  care. 
But  the  ways  of  the  Lord  are  often  not  our  ways.” 

Jenny  began  to  act  almost  as  soon  as  she  was  admit¬ 
ted  to  the  Koval  Theatre.  At  ten  she  played  the  part  of 
Angela  in  “The  Polish  Mine.”  The  next  year  she  was 
Johanna  in  “  Te-stamentet.”  The  press  spoke  of  her  acting 
as  showing  “  fire  and  feeling  far  beyond  her  years.” 

The  year  she  was  thirteen  she  appeared  in  twenty-two 
performances.  The  press  said  the  child  showed  “  un¬ 
natural  cleverness,”  but  regretted  that  she  had  to  take 
parts  full  of  “  coquetry,  boldness,  and  heartlessness.” 
From  twelve  to  fifteen  she  sang  in  concerts,  and  the 
Swedes  were  becoming  very  proud  of  her.  At  seventeen, 
when  she  had  appeared  on  the  stage  one  hundred  and 
eleven  times  for  her  board  and  clothes,  it  was  decided 
that  it  was  time  to  give  her  a  salary  of  about  sixty  pounds 
a  year. 

During  her  seventeenth  year  she  appeared  on  the  boards 


202 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


ninety-two  times  in  twelve  new  characters.  It  was  fortu¬ 
nate  that  she  had  a  good  memory  and  great  versatility, 
otherwise  the  work  required  of  her  would  have  broken  her 
constitution.  The  state  had  not  proved  an  easy  task¬ 
master,  but  the  life  was  more  enjoyable  than  if  it  had  been 
passed  in  the  poverty  of  the  Lind  home. 

When  about  seventeen  she  began  to  study  the  part  of 
Agatha  in  Weber's  “  Der  Freischiitz.”  One  day  she 
thought,  to  satisfy  her  teacher,  Madame  Erikson,  of  whom 
she  was  very  fond,  she  would  put  her  whole  soul  into 
her  part.  She  did  so,  and  the  teacher  met  the  effort  with 
silence.  “Am  I,  then,  so  incapable?”  thought  the  girl, 
till  she  saw  the  tears  on  her  teacher’s  face.  “  My  child, 
I  have  nothing  to  teach  you  ;  do  as  nature  tells  you,”  she 
said. 

On  the  day  of  her  debut ,  March  7,  1838,  she  was  ex¬ 
tremely  nervous  and  worried,  but  after  the  first  note  on 
the  stage  all  fear  disappeared.  The  people  wrere  surprised 
and  delighted,  and  she  most  of  all,  for  she  had  learned 
her  ability. 

She  often  said  afterwards,  “  I  got  up  that  morning  one 
creature ;  I  went  to  bed  another  creature.  I  had  found 
my  power.”  All  through  life  the  7th  of  March  was  kept 
with  grateful  remembrance ;  it  was  a  second  birthday. 

In  1839  her  most  effective  part  was  Alice  in  Meyerbeer’s 
“  Robert  le  Diable,”  which  she  played  twenty-three  times 
to  enthusiastic  audiences.  So  popular  was  she  in  this 
piece  that  she  gave  it  sixty  times  in  the  same  theatre 
during  the  next  four  years. 

Bournonville,  eminent  in  Copenhagen  and  at  Stockholm 
as  a  composer,  said  later,  her  voice  even  then  “  possessed 
the  same  sympathy,  the  same  electric  povrer,  which  now 
makes  it  so  irresistible.  She  was  worshipped.”  He 


JENNY  LIND. 


203 


said,  three  years  afterwards,  when  she  sang  in  Denmark, 
“Jenny  Lind  discovered  that  she  could  get  her  living 
out  of  Sweden ;  and  also  she  learned  that  the  artist, 
in  reality,  should  not  settle  down  on  the  native  soil,  but, 
like  the  bird  of  passage,  should  go  there  only  in  search 
of  rest.” 

Jenny  was  able  to  take  a  brief  rest  in  the  summer  of 
1839  at  Gothenburg,  and  her  mother  went  with  her  to 
enjoy  the  country  air.  Fru  Lind  wrote  back  to  her  hus¬ 
band  :  “  Our  Jenny  recruits  herself  daily,  now  in  the 
hay-stacks,  now  on  the  sea  or  in  the  swing,  in  perfect 
tranquillity,  while  the  town  people  are  said  to  be  longing 
for  her  concert  and  greatly  wondering  when  it  will  come 
off.  Once  or  twice  she  lias  been  singing  in  rather  good 
circles,  the  divine  air  of  ‘  Isabelle’  from  ‘Robert  le  Li¬ 
able.  ’  Nearly  everybody  was  crying,  —  one  lady  actually 
went  into  hysterics  from  sheer  rapture  ;  this  has  got  abroad 
already.  Yes,  she  captivates  all,  all !  It  is  a  great  hap¬ 
piness  to  be  a  mother  under  such  conditions.”  Poor, 
tired  Fru  Lind  had  gained  courage  in  the  struggle,  and 
was  evidently  looking  forward  to  better  days. 

Towards  the  close  of  1839  Jenny  removed  from  her 
home  to  the  house  of  the  chief  of  Swedish  song-writers, 
Adolf  Fredrik  Lindblad.  In  this  family  she  found  com¬ 
panionship  and  quiet  for  study.  “  I  have  to  thank  him,” 
said  Jenny  Lind,  forty  years  later,  “  for  that  tine  compre¬ 
hension  of  art  which  was  implanted  by  his  idealistic, 
pure,  and  unsensual  nature  into  me,  his  ready  pupil. 
Subsequently  Christianity  stepped  in  to  satisfy  the  moral 
needs,  and  to  teach  me  to  look  well  into  my  own  soul.” 

Luma  in  Donizetti’s  “Lucia  di  Lammermoor”  became 
one  of  her  famous  roles.  After  her  thirteenth  per¬ 
formance  of  Lucia  on  June  19,  1840,  a  number  of  the 


204 


FAMOUS  TYPE*  OE  WOMANHOOD. 


actors  serenaded  her,  and  on  her  return  home  she  was 
presented  with  a  silver  tea  and  coffee  service  which  she 
always  valued  highly,  and,  at  her  death,  willed  to  her 
eldest  son. 

The  girl  was  as  lovely  in  character  as  she  was  gifted  in 
song.  The  poor  home  and  the  hard  work  had  not  soured 
her  nature,  but  had  made  her  more  tender  to  the  suffering, 
and  more  considerate  of  others. 

She  began  to  wiu  friends  among  the  distinguished 
people  of  her  country.  Erik  Gustaf  Geijer,  the  noted 
author  and  popular  Professor  of  History  in  the  Univer¬ 
sity  of  Upsala,  wrote  several  songs  for  her.  One,  espe- 
pecially,  stirred  her  with  ambition.  It  was  found  after 
her  death  among  her  papers,  with  this  line  in  her  owu 
hand  on  the  bottom  of  the  page  :  “  On  these  words  I  was 
launched  into  the  open  sea.” 

“  Oh !  if  from  yon  Eternal  Fire, 

Which  slays  the  soul  that  sets  it  free, 

Consuming  them,  as  they  aspire, 

One  burning  spark  have  fallen  on  thee,  — 

“  Fear  not!  though  upward  still  it  haste, 

That  living  lire,  that  tongue  of  flame ! 

Thy  days  it  turns  to  bitter  waste ; 

But  ah !  from  heaven  —  from  heaven  it  came !  ” 

When  Jenny  sang  in  Upsala  before  the  enthusiastic 
students,  she  must  have  enjoyed  the  lovely  home  and 
garden  of  the  gifted  Geijer.  He  died  April  23,  1847. 
Forty  years  later  I  counted  it  a  privilege  to  gather  from 
that  garden  some  beautiful  pink  roses  which  I  still 
preserve. 

The  daughter  of  Baron  L.  thus  describes  the  singer  at 
a  party  in  the  baron’s  home  :  “  On  the  threshhold  stands 


JENNY  LIND. 


205 


the  host  and  by  his  side,  shaking  hands  with  him,  a 
young  girl,  with  an  abundance  of  curls  round  the  pale 
cheeks;  a  gown  in  simple  style  softly  clings  round  the 
maiden  figure  and  there  is  a  dreamy,  half-absent,  and 
fascinating  look  in  the  deep-set  eyes. 

“The  hum  is  increasing  still  more  when  the  old  noble¬ 
man  leads  the  visitor  into  the  midst  of  his  guests  ;  but  he 
has  not  time  to  pronounce  her  name,  it  is  already  on 
everybody’s  lips,  and  is  now  flying  round  the  room  with 
a  subdued  sound  :  Jenny  Lind  !  Jenny  Lind  ! 

“  The  beauties  of  the  season  are  forgotten  and,  what  is 
more,  they  forget  all  about  themselves ;  flirtation  is  sup¬ 
pressed  ;  .  .  .  a  crowd  of  the  high  assembly  gathers  round 
the  plain-looking  young  girl,  thus  for  once  justly  conced¬ 
ing  the  preference  of  genius  to  birth  —  of  beauty  of  soul 
to  beauty  of  features.” 

Jenny  Lind  was  about  five  feet  and  three  to  four  inches 
in  height,  with  “  dove-like  blue  eyes  ”  and  light  hair,  a 
face  which  expressed  every  emotion,  a  quick  and  alert 
mind  which,  said  N.  P.  Willis,  “comprehended  every¬ 
thing  by  the  time  it  was  half  expressed,”  a  dislike  of 
the  “small  talk”  of  society  and  of  compliments,  and  a 
natural,  frank,  sincere  manner.  While  vivacious,  there 
was  an  undertone  of  melancholy  in  her  nature,  as  perhaps 
there  must  always  be  in  those  who  think  deeply,  and  are 
conversant  with  the  world’s  woes. 

“  She  has  the  simplicity  of  genius,”  said  Mrs.  Stanley, 
the  wife  of  the  Bishop  of  Norwich  and  the  mother  of  Dean 
Stanley,  some  years  later.  “  She  never  speaks  of  herself, 
never  appears  to  think  of  herself.”  She  moved  on  the 
stage  with  all  its  perils,  true  to  whatever  was  best  in 
womanhood. 

Conscious  that  she  had  great  talents,  the  “  Swedish 


206 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Nightingale,”  as  she  was  called,  felt  that  she  must  put 
forth  every  effort  for  their  cultivation.  She  was  ambitious 
and  rightly  so.  To  develop  every  talent,  however  small, 
and  use  it  to  the  fullest  extent  possible,  is  the  duty  of 
every  human  being.  Indolence  makes  thousands  of  medi¬ 
ocre  lives ;  Jenny  Lind  won  her  place  in  part,  as  she  used 
to  say,  “by  incredible  labor.” 

When  she  was  twenty  she  was  made  a  member  of  the 
Royal  Swedish  Academy  of  Music,  and  was  appointed 
court  singer  by  his  Majesty,  Carl  Johan.  She  had  deter¬ 
mined  to  go  to  Paris  to  study,  feeling  that  she  had  the 
Eternal  Fire  of  which  Geijer  had  written.  The  directors 
of  the  theatre  tried  to  dissuade  her  by  the  offer  of  a  salary 
of  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  which  she  declined. 

In  the  summer  of  1840,  Jenny  Lind  made  a  provincial 
tour,  thereby  earning  enough  money,  with  what  she  had 
saved,  to  study  in  Paris  for  a  year.  The  provincial  con¬ 
cert  tour  was  a  fatiguing  one.  She  wrote  a  friend,  “  The 
roads  were  so  bad  that  the  wheels,  now  and  then,  sank  a 
foot  deep  into  the  mud,  and  it  was  very  horrid  sitting 
about  in  the  atrocious  weather ;  but  as  soon  as  I  arrive  in 
a  town,  and  see  the  exceeding  great  kindness  and  friend¬ 
liness  the  people  have  for  me,  then  I  feel  it  wicked  to 
grumble.  You  cannot  think  to  what  an  extent  they  all  vie 
with  each  other  in  serving  me.  It  is  quite  astonishing  !  ” 

Already  she  had  begun  the  generosity  which  was  for¬ 
ever  to  make  her  name  honored  and  beloved.  She  writes 
again  to  the  same  friend  “  to  visit  Bruhn  the  painter,  a 
poor  sick  man,  ill  in  bed  these  last  fourteen  years  ;  I  for¬ 
got  to  bring  him  his  monthly  allowance  before  coming 
away ;  wrill  you  be  good  enough  to  give  him,  on  my  be¬ 
half,  eight  riksdaler  banco,  and  to  tell  him  this  is  for  the 
months  of  July  and  August.” 


JENNY  LIND. 


207 


Through  life  she  felt  that  the  money  she  earned  was 
only  hers,  in  trust,  as  well  as  her  voice.  “  Every  morn¬ 
ing  when  she  got  up,  she  told  me,”  writes  Mrs.  Stanley, 
“  she  felt  that  her  voice  was  a  gift  from  God,  and  that, 
perhaps,  that  very  day  might  be  the  last  of  its  use.” 

Through  the  autumn  of  1840  and  spring  of  1841  her 
labors  were  incessant.  Twenty-three  times  she  gave 
Lucia;  fourteen  times  Alice  in  “Robert”;  nine  times 
Agatha  in  “  Der  Freisclhitz  ”  ;  seven  times  Bellini’s  “  Nor¬ 
ma,”  besides  other  plays  and  concerts.  On  June  19,  1841, 
she  appeared  for  the  four  hundred  and  forty-seventh  time 
on  the  stage  of  the  Royal  Theatre,  since,  when  a  child  of 
ten,  she  had  played  Angela  in  “  The  I’olish  Mine.” 

Two  weeks  later  she  started  for  Paris,  spending  the 
whole  last  night  before  her  departure,  says  Madame  Lind- 
blad,  in  writing  letters,  “  coming  occasionally  into  our 
rooms  to  have  a  good  cry.” 

On  leaving  Sweden,  Jenny  Lind  took  a  letter  of  in¬ 
troduction  from  Queen  Desiree  (the  wife  of  Marechal 
Bernadotte,  who  became  King  of  Sweden  and  Norway  in 
1818,  under  the  title  of  Carl  XIV.,  Johan)  to  her  rela¬ 
tive,  Madame  la  Marechale  Soult.  At  the  house  of 
the  latter  Jenny  sang  before  Signor  Manuel  Garcia,  the 
greatest  singing-master  of  the  century.  Later,  Jenny 
called  upon  him,  desiring  to  take  lessons.  She  sang 
in  “Lucia,”  in  which  she  had  appeared  thirty-nine  times 
in  Stockholm  the  previous  year,  and  broke  down.  lie 
said  to  the  frightened  girl,  who  had  nearly  worn  her¬ 
self  out  by  her  hard  work,  “  It  would  be  useless  to  teach 
you,  Mademoiselle  ;  you  have  no  voice  left.” 

She  told  Mendelssohn  years  afterward  that  the  agony  of 
that  moment  exceeded  all  she  had  suffered  in  her  whole 
life. 


208 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


She  asked  Garcia,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  what  she  was 
to  do.  Evidently  moved  by  her  sorrow,  he  said  she  must 
give  her  voice  a  complete  rest  for  six  weeks,  not  singing 
at  all,  and  talking  very  little.  At  the  end  of  that  time  she 
might  come  to  him  again.  At  once  she  began  diligently 
to  perfect  herself  in  the  French  language. 

On  her  return  to  Garcia  her  voice  had  so  improved  that 
he  was  willing  to  give  her  two  lessons  a  week.  She  began 
to  practice  the  scales  and  exercises  four  hours  or  more 
daily.  For  ten  mouths  she  studied  almost  continuously. 
Garcia’s  help  was  valuable,  but  she  knew  that  her  power 
came  from  another  source. 

She  wrote,  years  afterward  :  “  The  greater  part  of  what 
I  can  do  in  my  art,  1  have  myself  acquired  by  incredible 
labor,  in  spite  of  astonishing  difficulties.  By  Garcia  alone 
have  I  been  taught  some  few  important  things.  God  had 
so  plainly  written  within  me  what  I  had  to  study ;  my 
ideal  was,  and  is,  so  high,  that  I  could  find  no  mortal  who 
could  in  the  least  degree  satisfy  my  demands.  Therefore 
I  sing  after  no  one’s  method  ;  only,  as  far  as  I  am  able, 
after  that  of  the  birds ;  for  their  Master  was  the  only  one 
who  came  up  to  my  demands  for  truth,  clearness,  and 
expression.” 

Her  voice  had  increased  in  depth  of  tone,  in  clearness  in 
the  upper  register,  and  in  sympathetic  adaptation  to  the 
words  of  every  song.  She  had  also  learned  to  fill  the 
lungs  with  such  dexterity  that  it  was  impossible  to  detect 
when  the  breath  was  renewed.  Unlike  Henrietta  Son- 
tag,  she  had  naturally  limited  sustaining  power,  and  this 
increase  of  sustaining  power  was  gained  by  practice. 

In  May,  18.2,  Jenny  Lind  returned  to  Stockholm,  the 
directors  of  the  theatre  giving  her  about  one  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds,  with  extra-service  money,  and  costumes  pro- 


JENNY  LIND. 


209 


vided.  She  sang  in  “Norma,”  “Lucia,”  Mozart’s  “  Le 
Nozze  di  Figaro,”  and  won  additional  fame  as  Amina, 
in  Bellini’s  “  La  Sonuambula.”  In  nine  months  she  ap¬ 
peared  one  hundred  and  six  times  in  thirteen  different 
parts. 

Her  first  duty  and  pleasure  was  to  purchase  a  little 
home  in  the  country  for  her  father  and  mother,  and  then 
she  transferred  her  guardianship  to  Herr  Henric  M.  Mun- 
the,  a  judge  of  high  position  and  character.  To  the  end 
of  his  life  he  Avas  her  helpful  friend. 

When  she  Avas  sixty  years  old,  she  wrote  his  son  Carl  in 
appreciation  of  his  noble  father.  She  states  that  she  had 
intended  to  write  her  autobiography,  as  her  experience  had 
been  so  varied,  but  later  she  abandoned  it  after  the  public 
so  criticised  the  “Reminiscences”  of  Carlyle. 

In  the  summer  of  1843,  Jenny  Lind  sang  in  Finland  to 
delighted  audiences.  Topelius,  the  poet  and  historian, 
remembering  the  welcome  of  the  people,  wrote  in  1888, 
after  her  death  :  — 

“  I  saw  thee  once,  so  young  and  fair, 

In  thy  SAvect  spring-tide,  long  ago; 

A  myrtle  wreath  Avas  in  thy  hair, 

And,  at  tl.y  breast,  a  rose  did  blow. 

“  Poor  AA’as  thy  purse,  yet  gold  thy  gift ; 

All  music’s  golden  boons  Avere  thine : 

And  yet,  through  all  the  Avealth  of  art, 

It  AA-as  thy  soul  Avhich  sang  to  mine. 

“Yea!  sang,  as  no  one  else  has  sung, 

So  subtly  skilled,  so  simply  good! 

So  brilliant !  yet  as  pui’e,  and  true 
As  birds  that  Avarble  in  the  AA'ood !  ” 


210 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


She  sang  next  in  Denmark.  “  All  Copenhagen  was  in 
raptures,”  said  Hans  Andersen.  “Jenny  Lind  was  the 
first  artist  to  whom  the  students  ever  offered  a  serenade  ! 
The  torches  flashed  round  the  hospitable  villa  where  the 
song  was  sung.  She  expressed  her  thanks  by  a  few  more 
of  the  Swedish  songs,  and  I  then  saw  her  hurry  into  the 
darkest  corner,  and  weep  out  her  emotion.  ‘  Yes,  yes,’ 
she  said,  ‘  I  will  exert  myself ;  I  will  strive;  I  shall  be 
more  efficient  than  I  am  now,  when  I  come  to  Copenhagen 
again  !  ’  ” 

In  this  city,  having  heard  that  a  young  man  who  was 
ill  felt  greatly  disappointed  because  he  had  not  heard  her, 
she  visited  his  home,  and  sang  to  him  and  his  young  wife, 
notwithstanding  she  was  to  sing  in  “  Norma”  that  after¬ 
noon.  Hans  Andersen  tells  of  another  act  of  kindness  on 
a  second  visit  to  Copenhagen.  Every  hour  was  occupied, 
but  having  heard  of  a  society  which  took  children  out  of 
the  hands  of  bad  parents,  and  provided  for  them,  she 
desired  to  help  raise  funds. 

“Have  I  not  still  a  disengaged  evening?”  said  she. 
“  Let  me  give  a  performance  for  the  benefit  of  these  poor 
children,  and  we  will  have  doubled  prices.” 

The  concert  was  given,  and  the  proceeds  were  large. 
AVhen  told  how  many  poor  children  would  be  helped,  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  as  she  said,  “Is  it  not  beautiful  that 
I  can  sing  so? ” 

From  October,  1843,  to  July,  1844,  she  made  sixty-six 
appearances  in  Stockholm  ;  gave  concerts  to  raise  money 
for  the  Swedish  composer,  Josephson,  that  he  might  study 
abroad,  and  found  occasional  rest  in  her  “  cosey  little 
home.” 

She  writes  to  Hans  Andersen,  describing  it :  “  Cheer¬ 
ful,  sunny  rooms,  a  nightingale  and  a  greenfinch ;  the 


JENNY  LIND. 


211 


latter,  however,  is  greatly  superior  as  an  artist  to  his  cele¬ 
brated  colleague,  for,  while  the  first  remains  on  his  bar, 
grumpy  and  moody,  the  other  jumps  about  in  his  cage, 
looking  so  joyous  and  good-natured,  as  if,  to  begin  with, 
he  was  not  in  the  least  jealous,  but,  instead  of  that,  sup¬ 
poses  himself  created  merely  for  the  purpose  of  cheering 
his  silent  friend  !  And  then  he  sings  a  song,  so  high,  so 
deep,  so  charming  and  so  sonorous,  that  I  sit  down  beside 
him,  and,  within,  lift  up  my  voice  in  a  mute  song  of  praise 
to  Him  whose  ‘strength  is  made  perfect  in  weakness.’ 
Ah  !  it  is  divine  to  feel  really  good.” 

At  this  time  she  was  invited  b}7  Meyerbeer  to  sing  in 
his  new  opera,  “  Das  Feldlager  in  Schlesien,”  to  be  given 
at  the  opening  of  the  new  Royal  Opera  House  in  Berlin. 
When  she  left  Stockholm  in  July,  1844,  to  go  to  Dresden 
to  study  the  German  language,  the  queen  gave  her  por¬ 
trait-medals  of  herself  and  the  late  king,  with  a  watch, 
which,  she  said,  is  “  to  remind  you  not  to  forget  the  time 
of  your  return  to  us.” 

As  ever,  she  was  homesick  at  leaving  Sweden,  but  her 
ambition  sustained  her.  In  Dresden  she  lived  quietly, 
refusing  to  enter  society,  devoting  herself  methodically  to 
her  study.  Recalled  to  Sweden  to  assist,  as  court-singer, 
at  the  coronation  of  King  Oscar  I.,  she  was  offered  about 
four  hundred  and  twenty  pounds,  annually,  for  eight 
years,  with  a  pension  for  life,  by  the  theatre  directors,  if 
she  would  remain  in  Sweden.  She  was  inclined  to  accept 
the  offer,  but  was  dissuaded  by  friends. 

In  the  fall  of  1844,  she  went  to  Berlin.  Through  Meyer¬ 
beer  she  was  privately  presented  to  the  royal  family. 
Before  appearing  in  opera,  she  was  asked  to  sing  at  a 
small  party  given  by  Augusta,  afterwards  empress.  The 
Couutess  of  Westmoreland,  whose  husband,  the  earl,  was 


212 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


the  English  ambassador  to  Prussia,  and  a  noted  musician 
as  well,  the  founder  of  the  Royal  Academy  of  Music  in 
London,  was  at  the  party  given  by  Augusta.  Lady  West¬ 
moreland  thus  describes  the  event,  as  told  her  by  her  mother, 
the  countess  :  “  She  went  in,  full  of  curiosity,  and  saw  sit¬ 
ting  by  the  lamp  a  thin,  pale,  plain-featured  girl,  looking 
awkward  and  nervous,  and  like  a  very  shy  country  school¬ 
girl.  She  could  not  believe  her  eyes,  and  said  that  she 
and  her  neighbors,  among  whom  was  Countess  Rossi 
(Henrietta  Sontag) ,  whose  fame  as  a  singer  and  a  beauty 
was  then  still  recent,  began  to  speculate  whether  Meyer¬ 
beer  was  playing  a  practical  joke  on  them ;  and  when  he 
came  up  to  speak  to  them,  my  mother  asked  him  if  he  was 
really  serious  in  meaning  to  bring  that  frightened  child 
out  in  his  opera.  Ilis  only  answer  was,  *  Attendez , 
Miladi.' 

“When  the  time  came  for  her  song,  m}T  mother  used  to 
say  it  was  the  most  extraordinary  experience  she  ever  re¬ 
membered.  The  wonderful  notes  came  ringing  out;  but 
over  and  above  that  was  the  wonderful  transfiguration  — 
no  other  word  could  apply  —  which  came  over  her  entire 
face  and  figure,  lightening  them  up  with  the  whole  fire  and 
dignity  of  her  genius.  The  effect  on  the  whole  audience 
was  simply  marvellous. 

“  When  she  reached  home,  my  father  asked  her,  ‘Well, 
what  do  you  think  of  Meyerbeer’s  wonder?’ 

“  She  answered,  ‘  She  is  simply  an  angel.’ 

“  ‘  Is  she  so  very  handsome?  ’ 

“  ‘  I  saw  a  plain  girl  when  I  went  in,  but  when  she  be¬ 
gan  to  sing  her  face  simply  and  literally  shone  like  that  of 
an  angel.  I  never  saw  anything,  or  heard  anything,  the 
least  like  it.’ 

“  My  mother  used  to  say  that  she  thought  her  dramatic 


JENNY  LIND. 


213 


power  was  quite  as  great  as  her  musical  genius,  and  that  if 
she  had  had  no  voice  she  might  still  have  been  the  greatest 
of  living  actresses.” 

The  gifted  Henrietta  Sontag  called  her  afterwards,  “  the 
first  singer  of  the  world.” 

Jenny  Lind  did  not  sing  in  Meyerbeer’s  new  opera,  be¬ 
cause  a  prima  donna  who  had  sung  for  years  at  the  theatre, 
declared  it  to  be  her  right  to  sing.  The  public  were,  of 
course,  disappointed.  But  jealousies  are  not  confined  to 
the  stage  ! 

Jenny  Lind's  first  appearance  in  Berlin  was  in  “  Norma.” 
She  interpreted  the  character  differently  from  Madame 
Pasta,  for  whom  it  was  written,  or  from  Madame  Grisi, 
who  was  playing  it  nightly  in  London  and  Paris,  with  less 
of  passion,  but  more  of  true  womanhood.  Meyerbeer  was 
charmed  with  Jenny  Lind,  and  determined  that  she  should 
appear  in  his  new  opera.  “  He  is  a  most  polite  man,” 
wrote  Josephson  ;  “  something  of  the  courtier  ;  something 
of  the  man  of  genius  ;  something  of  the  man  of  the  world  ; 
and  has,  in  addition,  something  fidgety  about  his  whole 
being.  Before  reproducing  the  opera  with  Jenny  Lind, 
he  called  upon  her,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  at  least  a 
hundred  times  to  consult  about  this,  that,  or  the  other.” 

Before  she  appeared  as  Vielka  in  “  Das  Feldlager  in 
Schlesien,”  she  was  exceedingly  nervous,  and  kept  prac¬ 
tising  the  whole  afternoon  and  before  the  beginning  of 
the  opera.  Her  reception  was  most  enthusiastic.  After 
the  fourth  performance,  an  attempt  was  made  to  secure 
her  for  London.  She  unwisely  signed  a  contract  with  Mr. 
Alfred  Bunn,  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  which,  from  dis¬ 
agreement,  ended  in  a  lawsuit,  with  damages  against  her 
of  twenty-five  hundred  pounds. 

Every  evening  was  an  ovation  to  the  singer.  When 


214 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


“  La  Sonnambula  ”  was  given,  the  prices  asked  and  paid 
were  unprecedented.  Meyerbeer  wrote  her,  urging  her  to 
overcome  her  diffidence;  but  added,  ‘-Whether  heaven 
grants  you  or  not  this  little  supplement  to  3Tour  other 
precious  qualities,  you  will  always  be,  for  me,  my  dear 
Mademoiselle,  one  of  the  most  touching  and  noble  char¬ 
acters  that  I  have  ever  met  with  during  my  long  artistic 
wanderings,  and  one  to  whom  I  have  vowed  for  my 
whole  life  the  most  profound  and  sincere  admiration  and 
esteem.” 

Her  farewell  concert  was  in  aid  of  the  “Asylum  for 
Blind  Soldiers.” 

Though  constantly  meeting  such  distinguished  persons 
as  Tieck,  Brockhaus,  the  head  of  the  great  publishing  firm 
in  Leipzig,  and  Frau  Bettina  von  Arnim,  —  Goethe’s  Bet- 
tina,  — she  wrote  to  Judge  Munthe  :  “In  the  midst  of  all 
these  splendors,  my  whole  soul  goes  out  in  longing  for 
Sweden.  There  is  an  inexplicable  home-sympathy  in  the 
depths  of  my  soul,  and  I  look  upon  its  possession  as  an 
unspeakable  happiness ;  for  to  feel  so  warmly  as  this  for 
one’s  country  is  a  divinely  elevating  sentiment.” 

On  her  way  back  to  Sweden  she  sang  in  Hanover  and  in 
Hamburg.  She  was  serenaded  and  escorted  home  by 
torchlight  processions.  “  She  was  the  first  in  Hamburg,” 
says  Dr.  Hermann  Uhde,  “  whose  whole  figure  had  ever 
been  so  completely  bestrewn  with  flowers  that  she  stood 
upon  an  improvised  carpet  of  blossoms.”  On  her  return 
to  Sweden,  though  it  was  midnight,  the  streets  were  com¬ 
pletely  blocked  by  those  who  had  come  to  welcome  her 
home. 

She  was  soon  recalled  to  Prussia  to  sing  at  an  enter¬ 
tainment  given  by  King  Frederick  William  IV.,  —  the  son 
of  the  immortal  Louise,  —  in  honor  of  Queen  Victoria  and 


JENNY  LIND. 


215 


Prince  Albert,  who  hacl  come  to  Prussia  to  be  present  at 
the  unveiling  of  a  bronze  statue  at  Bonn  to  the  incom¬ 
parable  Beethoven. 

Queen  Victoria  was  charmed  with  Jenny  Lind,  and 
showed  her  many  attentions  through  life. 

During  this  visit  she  met  George  Grote,  the  historian 
of  Greece,  and  his  wife,  who  were  ever  after  her  cherished 
friends.  She  confided  to  Mrs.  Grote  that  the  stage  was 
distasteful  to  her,  and  that  she  should  leave  it  as  soon 
as  she  was  pecuniarily  independent,  adding,  “  My  wants 
are  few,  my  tastes  simple,  a  small  income  would  content 
me.”  She  also  wrote  her  old  friend,  Madame  Erikson, 
“  Connection  with  the  stage  has  no  attraction  for  me  ;  my 
soul  is  yearning  for  rest  from  all  these  persistent  compli¬ 
ments  and  this  persistent  adulation.” 

She  sang  for  nine  nights  at  Frankfort.  At  Darmstadt, 
when  she  was  called  before  the  curtain,  she  was  received 
with  “  a  gentle  shower  of  flowers.” 

In  the  last  week  of  October,  1845,  Jenny  Lind  re¬ 
turned  to  Berlin,  and  in  the  following  five  months  sang 
twenty-eight  times,  taking  the  part  of  Donna  Anna  in 
Mozart’s  “  Don  Giovanni,”  Agatha  in  11  Der  Freischiitz,” 
Julia  in  Spontini’s  “  Die  Vestalin,”  Valentine  in  Meyer¬ 
beer’s  “  Les  Huguenots.”  The  house  of  Prof.  Ludwig 
Wilhelm  Wickmann,  the  friend  of  Thorvaldsen  and  the 
favorite  pupil  of  Schadow,  was  her  home.  Here  the  great 
singer  met  the  choicest  spirits  of  Germany.  Hans  An¬ 
dersen  came  to  see  her.  One  day  a  poor  tailor,  who  was 
also  a  poet,  came  to  call  upon  the  gifted  Dane.  Andersen 
had  little  to  offer  him,  but  suggested  that  he  might  arrange 
for  him  to  hear  Jenny  Lind. 

“  1  have  heard  her,”  said  the  man.  “  I  could  not  afford 
to  buy  a  ticket ;  so  1  went  to  the  man  who  provides  the 


216 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


1  supers,’  and  asked  him  if  I  could  not  go  as  a  ‘  super  ’ 
oue  evening  in  ‘  Norma.’  To  this  he  agreed.  So  I  was 
dressed  up  as  a  Roman  soldier,  with  a  long  sword  at  my 
side,  and  in  that  guise  appeared  upon  the  stage ;  and  I 
heard  her  better  than  any  one  else,  for  I  stood  close  be¬ 
side  her.  Ah  1  how  she  sang !  and  how  she  acted !  I 
could  not  stand  it;  it  made  me  weep.  But  they  were 
furious  at  that.  The  manager  forbade  it,  and  would  neA'er 
permit  me  to  set  foot  upon  the  stage  again,  for  one  must 
not  weep  upon  the  stage.” 

Mendelssohn  came  now  and  then  to  Berlin,  for  while 
his  devoted  family  lived  there,  his  duties  called  him  to 
Leipzig,  where  he  had  founded  the  Conservatorium  in 
1843,  and  as  leader  of  the  orchestra  of  the  Gewandhaus. 
Jenny  Lind  wrote  to  Judge  Munthe,  “  Felix  Mendelssohn 
comes  sometimes  to  Berlin,  and  I  have  often  been  in  his 
company.  lie  is  a  man ,  and,  at  the  same  time,  he  has  the 
most  supreme  taleut.  Thus  should  it  be.” 

Mendelssohn  took  Jenny  Lind  to  Leipzig  to  assist  in 
his  famous  Gewandhaus  Concerts,  the  finest  in  Europe. 
The  rush  for  tickets  was  so  great  that  not  one  fourth  of 
the  applicants  could  be  accommodated.  Herr  Brockhaus 
said,  “  Soul  and  expression  so  intimately  associated  with 
so  beautiful  a  voice  and  so  perfect  a  method  will  never  be 
met  with  again.  .  .  .  One  can  only  wonder,  and  love  her. 
And  this  affectionate  appreciation  is  universal,  —  the  same 
with  young  and  old,  with  men  and  with  women.” 

Instead  of  giving  a  benefit  for  herself,  she  gave  a  con¬ 
cert  for  the  widows  of  deceased  members  of  the  Gewand¬ 
haus  Orchestra.  After  the  concert  the  grateful  musicians 
gave  her  a  serenade,  and  a  beautiful  silver  salver. 

The  Brockhaus  children  were  delighted  with  the  lovable 
guest  — she  was  staying  with  Frau  Friedrich  Brockhaus, 


JENNY  LIND. 


217 


a  sister  of  Richard  Wagner  —  because  she  made  herself 
one  with  them  ;  looked  at  their  pictures,  and  showed  them 
a  bracelet  given  her  by  the  King  of  Prussia,  on  the  top  of 
which  were  three  large  pearls  on  a  cover,  and  beneath  the 
cover  a  cylinder  watch,  a  little  larger  than  an  English 
sixpence. 

After  this,  Mademoiselle  Lind  sang  at  Weimar,  visiting, 
with  great  feeling,  the  graves  of  Goethe  and  Schiller. 

While  at  Prof.  Wickmann’s,  she  commissioned  Prof. 
Magnus  to  paint  her  portrait,  as  a  gift  to  the  former  and 
his  wife.  This  admirable  likeness  remained  in  the  Wick- 
mann  family  till  1877,  when,  at  the  request  of  the  Berlin  Na¬ 
tional  Gallery,  the  son  sold  it  to  the  nation  for  twelve 
thousand  thalers. 

She  was  cheered  in  the  midst  of  her  hard  work  by  let¬ 
ters  from  Mendelssohn.  He,  too,  was  working  beyond  his 
strength.  He  wrote  :  “You  ask  how  tilings  go  with  me. 
On  the  days  when  I  was  so  quiet  in  my  room,  writing 
music  without  interruption,  and  only  going  out  from  time 
to  time  for  a  walk  in  the  fresh  air,  they  went  very  well 
indeed  with  me  —  or,  at  least,  I  thought  so.  ...  T,  like 
yourself,  rejoice  very  much  ndeed  in  thinking  of  the  time 
when  I  shall  be  able  to  put  aside  the  duty  of  conducting 
music  and  promoting  institutions,  and  quit  this  so-called 
‘  sphere  of  activity,’  and  have  no  other  ‘  sphere  of  activ¬ 
ity  ’  to  think  of  than  a  quire  of  blank  music-paper,  and  no 
need  to  conduct  anything  that  I  do  not  care  for,  and  when 
I  shall  be  altogether  independent  and  free.  It  will,  in¬ 
deed,  be  a  few  years  before  this  can  take  place,  but  I  hope 
not  more  than  that.”  He  died  the  next  year. 

Early  in  April,  184G,  Mademoiselle  Lind  started  for 
Vienna,  by  the  way  of  Leipzig,  helping  Mendelssohn  in 
his  last  concert,  save  one,  in  the  Gewandhaus.  He  played 


218 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Beethoven’s  “Sonata  in  C  sharp  minor”  as  no  one  else 
could  play  it.  His  last  performance  in  the  Gewandhaus 
was  on  July  19,  1846,  when  he  played  the  pianoforte  part 
of  Beethoven’s  “  Kreutzer  Sonata.” 

Mademoiselle  Lind  was  more  than  ever  impressed  with 
the  remarkable  devotion  of  Mendelssohn  to  his  family. 
Brockhaus  says  in  his  diary:  “I  am  convinced  that  she 
would  gladly  exchange  all  her  triumphs  for  simple,  homely 
happiness.  She  sees  that  in  Mendelssohn’s  house,  where 
the  wife  and  children  make  his  happiness  complete.” 

Mendelssohn  helped  to  make  Vienna  pleasant  for  her 
by  letters  to  his  friends.  He  wrote  the  singer,  Herr 
Franz  Hausen,  later  the  director  of  the  Couservatorium  in 
Munich,  to  receive  her  “  not  as  a  stranger,  but  as  one  of 
ourselves.”  “  She  pulls  at  the  same  rope  with  all  of  us, 
who  are  really  in  earnest  about  that ;  thinks  about  it ; 
strives  for  it;  and,  if  all  goes  well  with  her  in  the  world, 
it  is  as  pleasant  to  me  as  if  it  went  well  with  me ;  for  it 
helps  me,  and  all  of  us,  so  well  on  our  road.” 

Madame  Birch-Pfeiffer,  a  well-known  author,  wrote  a 
friend  in  Vienna  :  “  She  speaks  little,  and  thinks  deeply. 
She  is  full  of  perception,  and  the  finest  tact  —  a  mixture 
of  devotion  and  energy,  such  as  you  have  probably  never 
before  met  with.  Free,  herself,  from  the  slightest  trace 
of  coquetry,  she  regards  all  coquetry  with  horror.  In 
short,  she  stands  alone  of  her  kind,  from  head  to  foot.” 

Mademoiselle  Lind  had  promised  to  sing  at  the  “  Thea¬ 
ter  an  der  Wien,”  at  that  time  the  largest  in  Vienna.  It 
had  been  built  by  Emmanuel  Schickaneder,  who,  when. in 
financial  difficulties,  was  given  “Die  Zauberflote  ”  by 
Mozart,  with  the  promise  that  the  score  should  not  pass 
out  of  his  hands.  He  accepted  the  gift,  but  broke  his 
word,  and  sold  a  copy  to  every  provincial  manager  who 


JENNY  LIND. 


219 


was  able  to  buy.  Mozart  died  soon  after  in  extreme 
poverty,  without  having  received  a  cent  for  his  great 
work,  while  Schickaneder  became  rich,  and  built  his 
theatre. 

Mademoiselle  Lind  feared  that  her  voice  would  not  fill 
the  hall,  but  was  finally  persuaded  by  her  friends  to  make 
the  attempt,  and  received  the  same  ovation  as  in  Berlin. 
She  wrote  Madame  Birch-Pfeiffer  that  at  the  close  of 
“  Norma,”  “  I  was  called  back  sixteen  times,  and  twelve 
or  fourteen  before  that.  Just  count  that  up  !  And  this 
reception  !  I  was  quite  astounded  !  ” 

Mendelssohn  wrote  her  cheering  letters  :  “  To-morrow, 
or  the  day  after  to-morrow,”  he  said,  “the  first  part  of 
my  oratorio  [“Elijah”]  will  be  quite  finished;  and  many 
pieces  out  of  the  second  part  are  already  finished  also. 
This  has  given  me  immense  pleasure  during  these  last 
weeks.  Sometimes,  in  my  room,  I  have  jumped  up  to 
the  ceiling,  when  it  seemed  to  promise  well.  But  I  am 
getting  a  little  confused,  through  writing  down,  during 
the  last  few  weeks,  the  immense  number  of  notes  that  I 
previously  had  in  my  head,  and  working  them  backwards 
and  forwards  upon  the  paper  into  a  piece,  though  not 
quite  in  the  proper  order,  one  after  another.” 

He  wrote  to  Herr  Hausen :  “  I  sit,  over  both  my  ears 
in  my  ‘  Elijah,’  and  if  it  turns  out  half  as  good  as  I  often 
think  it  will,  I  shall  be  glad  indeed.  I  like  nothing  better 
than  to  spend  the  whole  day  in  writing  the  notes  down, 
and  I  often  come  so  late  to  dine  that  the  children  come  to 
my  room  to  fetch  me,  and  drag  me  out  by  main  force.” 

As  ever,  Mademoiselle  Lind  was  pining  for  Sweden, — 
writing  to  the  wife  of  Prof.  Wickmann  :  “I  have  been 
so  homesick,  that  I  scarcely  knew  whether  I  should  live 
or  die.” 


220 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Despite  the  homesickness,  the  enthusiasm  of  the  people 
must  have  been  most  gratifying.  When  “La  Sonnam- 
bula  ”  was  given  at  the  farewell  —  when  flowers  were  fall¬ 
ing  in  showers  upon  the  stage  —  the  empress  mother 
dropped  a  wreath  at  the  singer’s  feet.  Such  a  favor  was 
unknown  in  Vienna.  The  audience  insisted  on  a  few 
words  from  Mademoiselle  Lind,  who  said  in  .German, 
“You  have  well  understood  me.  I  thank  you  from  my 
heart.” 

The  crowd  outside  the  theatre  was  so  great  that  it  was 
deemed  wise  for  her  to  wait  before  going  to  her  apart¬ 
ments.  Thirty  times  the  people  summoned  her  to  the 
window,  shouting,  “Jenny  Lind,  say  you  will  come  back 
again  to  us !  ”  She  stood  sobbing  like  a  child,  and 
throwing  them  flowers  from  the  mass  of  bouquets  piled 
before  her. 

Hour  after  hour  passed,  till,  as  morning  dawned,  she 
took  her  departure.  The  crowd  even  then  so  surged 
about  the  carriage  that  her  man-servant  was  badly 
injured. 

In  May,  1846,  Jenny  Lind  assisted  at  the  “  Lower 
Rhine  Musical  Festival,”  Mendelssohn  conducting  it,  at 
Aix-la-Chapelle.  The  two  principal  songs  in  Haydn’s 
“Creation,”  “On  Mighty  Pens”  and  “With  Verdure 
Clad,”  and  the  solo  and  chorus,  “The  Marvellous  Work,” 
displayed  Jenny  Lind’s  powers  admirably.  Her  greatest 
success,  however,  was  at  the  “  Artists’  Concert”  in  Men- 
delssohn’s  “  Auf  Fliigeln  des  Gesanges  ”  and  “  Friihlings- 
lied.”  Here,  as  at  various  other  places,  she  was  presented 
with  a  poem,  printed  in  black  and  gold,  on  white  satin. 
After  this,  she  sang  at  Hamburg  and  other  German  cities 
for  the  poor,  and  for  Orchestra  Pension  Funds. 

In  the  fall  of  1846  she  sang  in  Munich,  making  her 


JENNY  LIND. 


221 


home  with  the  family  of  Prof.  Wilhelm  von  Ivaulbach. 
At  Stuttgard  she  earned  for  the  poor  about  one  hundred 
and  thirty  pounds  by  a  concert ;  at  Carlsruhe  two  hundred 
gulden  were  set  apart  for  the  chorus ;  at  Nuremburg  a 
medal  was  struck  in  her  honor. 

On  her  return  to  Vieuna  she  sang  thirteen  times  in 
“  Vielka,” —  another  name  for  “  Das  Feldlager  in  Schles- 
ien,”  —  Meyerbeer  superintending.  So  distrustful  was 
she  of  her  own  powers  that  at  the  close  of  the  first  per¬ 
formance  of  “  Vielka,”  when  Meyerbeer  came  to  thank 
her  and  tell  her  she  “  had  sung  divinely,”  he  found  her  in 
tears,  exclaiming,  “Oh!  Ilerr  Director!  forgive  me  for 
singing  so  badly,  and  spoiling  your  opera.” 

Moscheles  thought  her  song  with  two  flutes  in  this 
opera  “was,  perhaps,  the  most  astonishing  piece  of 
bravura  singing  which  could  possibly  be  heard.” 

She  gave  seven  concerts  in  Vienna  for  charity  :  one  to 
aid  a  Swedish  composer,  another  for  the  Children’s  Hos¬ 
pital,  and  the  like.  She  was  made  court  singer  by  the 
Emperor  Ferdinand. 

In  1847,  she  went  to  London  to  fill  an  engagement  at 
Her  Majesty’s  Theatre.  She  was  to  receive  forty-eight 
hundred  pounds  for  the  season,  —  April  14  to  Aug.  20,  — 
with  a  furnished  house  to  live  in,  horses  and  carriage,  and 
eight  hundred  pounds  extra  for  a  month  in  Italy,  if  she 
wished  to  study  the  language  more  fully,  or  for  rest.  This, 
of  course,  was  more  than  she  had  ever  received  before. 

After  her  arrival  in  London,  she  began  to  be  frightened 
at  the  possibility  of  failure,  and  begged  the  manager  to 
cancel  the  contract.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grote  gave  a  dinner- 
party  for  her,  and  when  she  attempted  to  sing  for  the 
pleasure  of  the  company,  though  Mendelssohn,  who  was 
present,  accompanied  her,  she  broke  down  from  fright. 


222 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


The  excitement  was  intense  on  the  night  when  Jenny 
Lind  was  to  make  her  first  appearance.  The  rush  for 
places  was  so  great  that  men  were  thrown  down,  ladies 
fainted,  and  dress-suits  were  torn  in  pieces.  The  Queen 
and  Prince  Albert  were  present,  with  other  distinguished 
people. 

Jeuny  Lind  played  Alice  in  “Robert  le  Diable.”  The 
Queen,  herself  an  accomplished  musician,  was  delighted, 
and  threw  a  wreath  at  the  feet  of  the  artist. 

Two  evenings  later  the  same  opera  was  given,  and  the 
audience  rose  repeatedly  en  masse ,  and  waved  their  hats 
and  handkerchiefs.  The  Queen  was  again  present. 

The  press  was  most  cordial.  The  Illustrated  News 
said:  “  Her  voice  is  astonishing.  To  the  fullest,  purest, 
sweetest  tone  imaginable,  it  unites  a  vibrating  and  pene¬ 
trating  quality  that  makes  its  softest  whisper  audible,  no 
matter  where  the  listener  is  seated,  and  that,  when  exerted 
to  its  full  extent,  is  truly  glorious  ;  and  it  may  be  dis¬ 
tinctly  heard  above  the  loudest  din  of  the  orchestra,  and 
the  voices  of  the  other  artists.” 

Clairville  Cottage,  at  Old  Brompton,  a  lovely  home 
among  trees  and  flowers,  was  provided  for  the  singer. 
Here,  shut  out  from  the  eager  crowds  who  wished  to  meet 
her,  she  devoted  her  time  to  study.  When  Mrs.  Grote 
accompanied  her,  occasionally,  to  some  grand  party,  she 
said  to  her  friend,  “  I  would  rather  have  been  rambling  with 
you  among  the  Burnham  beeches.”  The  queen  dowager 
invited  her  to  visit  her,  and  the  Duke  of  Wellington  asked 
her  to  his  country-seat. 

Her  part  of  Amina  in  “La  Sonuambula”  gave  great 
satisfaction.  In  the  last  act,  Amina  walks  in  her  sleep 
over  a  wooden  bridge  spanning  a  mill-stream,  the  bridge 
hanging  in  the  air  directly  over  a  revolving  water-wheel. 


JENNY  LIND. 


223 


When  she  reaches  the  middle  of  the  bridge,  the  planks 
give  way.  She  starts,  lets  the  lamp  fall,  and  then,  with¬ 
out  awaking,  calmly  proceeds  on  her  journey.  The  peril¬ 
ous  feat  of  crossing  the  bridge  is  usually  performed  by  one 
of  the  helpers,  in  place  of  the  prima  donna,  but  Jenny 
Lind  would  not  deceive  the  public.  She  said  she  was 
frightened  each  time,  but  added,  “I  should  have  been 
ashamed  to  stand  before  the  audience,  pretending  that  I 
had  crossed  the  bridge,  if  I  had  not  really  done  it.” 

Queen  Victoria  records  in  her  diary,  of  the  air,  “  Ah  ! 
non  credea “  It  was  all  piano,  and  clear  and  sweet,  and 
like  the  sighing  of  a  zephyr,  yet  all  heard.  Who  could 
describe  those  long  notes,  drawn  out  till  they  quite  melt 
away,  that  shake  which  becomes  softer  and  softer,  those 
very  piano  and  flute-like  notes,  and  those  round  fresh 
tones  which  are  so  youthful?” 

Jenny  Lind  appeared  for  the  first  time  in  England  in 
“Norma,”  by  royal  command,  June  15,  1847.  The 
Queen  and  Prince  Albert  came  in  state.  The  royal  boxes 
were  draped  with  crimson  Genoa  velvet  trimmed  with 
gold  lace,  and  blue  velvet  with  silver  lace.  The  Queen 
came  at  eight,  but  the  crowd  began  to  gather  as  early  as 
half-past  three  in  the  afternoon. 

Jenny  Lind  sang  twice  at  Buckingham  Palace,  and  once 
at  Osborne.  She  had  always  refused  to  take  money  for 
Royal  concerts,  but  the  Queen  gave  her  a  handsome  brace¬ 
let,  saying,  “  I  must  again  express  not  only  my  admiration 
but  my  respect  for  you.” 

The  provinces  were  eager  to  hear  Jenny  Lind,  so,  in 
August,  she  sang  at  Brighton,  Birmingham,  Manchester, 
Liverpool,  Norwich,  Bristol,  Bath,  and  other  towns. 

At  Bath,  she  talked  with  an  aged  woman,  whom  she  saw 
walking  backward  and  forward  before  the  almshouse. 


224 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


“  I  have  lived  a  long  time  in  the  world,”  said  the  woman, 
“  and  desire  nothing  before  I  die  but  to  hear  Jenny  Lind.” 

“And  would  it  make  you  happy?”  said  the  singer. 

“  Ay,  that  it  would  ;  but  such  folks  as  I  can’t  go  to  the 
play-house,  and  so  I  shall  never  see  her.” 

“  Don’t  be  so  sure  of  that,”  said  the  other,  as  they 
entered  the  house.  “  Sit  down  and  listen.” 

The  old  lady  heard,  and  wept  at  the  unusual  music. 
“Now  you  have  heard  Jenny  Lind,”  said  the  stranger, 
and  departed. 

At  Norwich  —  a  thing  most  unusual  —  Jenny  Lind  was 
entertained  by  the  Bishop  and  his  wife,  the  parents  of 
Dean  Stanley.  Mrs.  Stanley  wrote  to  her  sister:  “Her 
voice  was  more  wonderful  than  when  I  heard  it  before,  — 
different  from  all  others,  in  being  like  the  warbling  of  a 
bird.”  Again,  she  wrote:  “I  would  rather  hear  Jenny 
talk  than  sing,  —  wonderful  as  it  is.” 

She  returned  to  Stockholm  late  in  1847,  after  an  absence 
of  two  years.  Never  after  this  did  she  take  a  penny  from 
Sweden,  but  gave  all  the  proceeds  of  her  concerts  to  its 
charities.  During  the  winter  she  sang  ten  times  in  Doni¬ 
zetti’s  “  Figlia  del  Reggimento,”  in  which  she  was  a  great 
favorite,  four  times  in  “La  Sonnambula,”  four  in  “  Lu¬ 
cia,”  twice  in  “  Der  Freischfitz,”  and  in  “Norma,”  “  Le 
Nozze  di  Figaro,”  and  other  operas.  The  proceeds  were 
given  from  these  plays  and  several  concerts  to  the  edu¬ 
cating  of  gifted  but  poor  children  for  the  stage ;  to  the 
Theatre  Pension  Fund  ;  to  the  machinists  of  the  theatre  ; 
to  the  Artists  Guild  Pension  Fund,  and  to  various  com¬ 
posers,  singers,  and  others  in  need. 

The  death  of  Mendelssohn,  Nov.  4,  1847,  had  been  a 
great  blow  to  her.  She  wrote  to  a  friend  in  Austria : 
“For  the  first  two  months  after  it,  I  could  not  put  a  word 


JENNY  LIND. 


225 


rlown  on  paper,  and  everything  seemed  to  me  to  be  dead. 
Never  was  I  so  happy,  so  lifted  in  spirit,  as  when  I  spoke 
with  him  !  And  seldom  can  there  have  been  in  the  world 
two  beings  who  so  understood  one  another,  and  so  sympa¬ 
thized  with  one  another,  as  we !  How  glorious  and 
strange  are  the  ways  of  God  !  On  the  one  hand,  He  gives 
all !  On  the  other,  He  takes  all  away !  Such  is  life’s 
outlook  !  ” 

For  two  whole  years  she  could  not  bear  to  sing  a  Lied  of 
Mendelssohn’s.  “  As  soon  as  I  am  obliged  to  hear  or 
read  anything  about  him,”  she  said,  “  T  get  almost  inca¬ 
pable  of  carrying  out  the  great  duty  which  I  have  taken 
upon  my  shoulders.” 

She  wrote  to  the  wife  of  Mendelssohn  :  “  Ilis  ‘  Elijah  ’  is 
sublime!  In  my  opinion,  he  never  wrote  anything  finer  ; 
and,  assuredly,  could  not  have  written  anything  loftier  in 
the  future.  .  .  .  You  cannot  but  feel  grateful  when  you 
consider  how  much,  and  in  what  a  lofty  manner,  you  were 
esteemed  and  loved  by  a  being,  not  only  exceptionally 
endowed,  but  pure  and  original  as  lie  !  ” 

When  she  left  Stockholm  in  July,  1848,  for  England,  the 
same  love  of  country  was  in  her  heart:  “My  king,  the 
whole  royal  family,  the  country,  the  ground,  —  oh!  I 
could  have  kissed  them  all,  and  with  tears  of  profound 
reverence  in  my  eyes  !  ” 

She  had  become  engaged  to  Herr  Julius  Gunther,  the 
tenor  of  the  Royal  Theatre,  who  had  sung  for  several 
years  with  her  in  Stockholm.  He,  too,  had  studied  under 
Garcia,  in  Paris.  The  engagement  was  broken  by  mutual 
consent  a  few  months  later,  largely  on  account  of  diverse 
views  about  the  stage,  she  having  determined  to  abandon 
her  stage  life  as  soon  as  it  was  possible. 

May  4,  1848,  she  appeared  again  at  Her  Majesty’s 


226 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Theatre  in  London,  before  a  delighted  audience.  Chopin, 
who  had  just  come  to  London,  went  to  hear  her.  He  said, 
“  This  Swede  is  indeed  an  original  from  head  to  foot. 
She  does  not  show  herself  in  the  ordinary  light,  but  in  the 
magic  rays  of  an  aurora  borealis.  Her  singing  is  infal¬ 
libly  pure  and  true ;  but,  above  all,  I  admire  her  piano 
passages,  the  charm  of  which  is  indescribable.” 

Her  delineation  of  the  madness  of  Lucy  Ashton  in 
“  Lucia  ”  was  brilliant  in  the  extreme.  She  gave  the  play 
eleven  times  during  the  season. 

Moved  with  sympathy  for  the  incurables  in  the  Bromp- 
ton  Hospital  for  Consumptives,  she  gave. a  concert  which 
netted  for  the  inmates  about  eighteen  hundred  pounds. 
Lord  Beaconsfield,  in  1849,  on  an  anniversary  occasion, 
said  :  ‘“I  know  nothing  in  classic  story,  or  in  those  feudal 
epochs  when  we  are  taught  that  the  individual  was  more 
influential,  when  character  was  more  forcible  —  I  know 
nothing  to  be  compared  with  the  career  of  this  admirable 
woman.  It  almost  reaches  the  high  ideal  of  human  nature 
when  we  portray  to  ourselves  a  youthful  maiden,  innocent 
and  benignant,  in  the  possession  of  an  unparalleled  and 
omnipotent  charm,  alternately  entrancing  the  heart  of 
nations,  and  then  kneeling  at  the  tomb  of  suffering,  of 
calamity,  and  of  care.  To  me  there  is  something  most 
beautiful  in  this  life  of  music  and  charity  —  a  life  passed 
amid  divine  sounds  and  still  diviner  deeds.” 

In  the  fall  of  1848  a  grand  rendering  of  “  Elijah”  Avas 
giA'en  by  Jenny  Lind  at  Exeter  Hall,  to  raise  money  for 
scholarships  in  music  in  memory  of  Mendelssohn.  The 
soprano  parts  had  been  composed  expressly  for  her, 
therefore  there  ay  as  an  especial  titness  in  her  giving  this 
oratorio. 

Over  one  thousand  pounds  Avere  realized  from  this  con- 


JENNY  LIND. 


227 


cert,  which  was  allowed  to  accumulate  until  1856,  when 
the  first  Mendelssohn  scholar  Avas  chosen  —  Mr.  Arthur 
Seymour  Sullivan,  now  Sir  Arthur  —  for  whom  Jenny 
Lind  always  had  high  admiration. 

After  this  Jenny  Lind  gave  a  concert  for  the  Manches¬ 
ter  Royal  Infirmary  and  Dispensary,  for  the  Queen’s  Col¬ 
lege  Hospital  at  Birmingham,  The  Southern  Hospital  at 
Liverpool,  the  sick  children  of  the  pQor  of  Norwich, 
which  resulted  in  “  The  Jenny  Lind  Infirmary  for  sick  Chil¬ 
dren,”  and  other  charities,  earning  and  giving  away  in 
less  than  nine  weeks  about  fifty-two  thousand  dollars. 
When  presents  were  proposed  on  account  of  such  gen¬ 
erosity  she  refused  to  receive  them,  feeling  that  the  money 
could  be  used  in  a  better  manner. 

At  Norwich  she  hoped  the  tickets  would  not  be  too 
high.  When  the  bishop  proposed  one  pound  for  the 
reserved  seats,  she  said,  “  Would  not  ten  shillings  be 
better,  and  then  I  could  sing  twice.”  lie  did  not  wish 
to  overtask  her. 

“  Never  mind,  if  the  people  wish  to  hear  me,”  she  said. 

No  wonder  that  Chopin  said,  “This  Swede  is  indeed  an 
original  from  head  to  foot.” 

April  3,  1849,  Jenny  Hind  gave  the  “Creation”  at 
Exeter  Hall  for  four  prominent  charities,  and  realized 
about  one  thousand  pounds.  The  Times  said  :  “  One  of 
the  most  general  topics  of  conversation  and  marked  ap¬ 
proval  was  the  exceeding  clearness  with  which  Made¬ 
moiselle  pronounced  the  words  of  all  her  songs,  duets, 
and  trios,”  and  urged  all  singers  to  follow  her  example. 

It  began  to  be  noised  abroad  that  Jenny  Lind  was  to 
leave  the  stage.  The  manager  of  Her  Majesty’s  Theatre 
was  in  despair,  and  the  public  as  well.  She  consented  at 
last  to  appear  in  six  operas.  In  Amina  in  “  La  Son- 


228 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


nambula,”  the  Times  said,  “Those  high  notes,  so  un¬ 
rivalled  in  sweetness,  and  admitting  the  finest  attenuation 
without  losing  a  particle  of  their  value,  seemed  to  vibrate 
through  the  house  with  a  clearness  hitherto  unknown.” 

Her  farewell,  May  10,  1849,  was  in  Alice  in  “  Ro¬ 
bert.”  At  the  close  three  times  she  came  before  an 
enraptured  but  sorrowing  audience,  which  rose  each  time 
she  appeared.  Tears  flowed  down  her  cheeks,  while  the 
audience  shouted  themselves  hoarse.  For  nineteen  years, 
from  a  child  of  ten,  she  had  been  the  idol  of  the  public. 
She  would  sing  again  for  a  time  in  concerts,  but  at  twenty- 

nine  she  bade  adieu  to  the  stage  forever. 

°  * 

In  eleven  j’ears,  between  her  first  appearance  in  op¬ 
era,  in  “  Der  Freischiitz,”  March  7,  1838,  and  her  last  in 
“  Robert  le  Diable,”  she  appeared  in  thirty  operas  six 
hundred  and  seventy-seven  times.  Sir  Julius  Benedict 
thinks  “  she  held  an  undisputed  sway  over  her  audiences 
in  five  operas  only.”  The  compass  of  her  voice,  says  the 
memoir  of  the  singer,  written  by  Canon  Henry  Scott 
Holland  and  W.  S.  Rockstro,  “  extended  from  B  below 
the  stave  to  G  on  the  fourth  line  above  it  —  in  technical 
language,  from  b  to  G ;  that  is  to  say,  a  clear  range  of 
two  octaves  and  a  sixth.  The  various  registers  of  this 
extended  compass  were  so  skilfully  blended  into  one,  by 
the  effect  of  art,  that  it  was  impossible  for  the  most 
delicate  or  attentive  ear  to  detect  their  points  of  junction.” 

The  three  notes,  F,  G,  and  A,  of  the  middle  register, 
were  the  ones  most  injured  by  her  hard  work  and  faulty 
method,  before  going  to  Paris  to  study. 

Jenny  Lind’s  voice,  says  Rockstro,  “  was  not  by  nature 
a  flexible  one.  The  rich  sustained  notes  of  the  soprano 
drammatico  were  far  more  congenial  to  it  than  the  rapid 
execution  which  usually  characterizes  the  lighter  class  of 


JENNY  LIND. 


229 


soprano  voices.  But  this  she  attained  also,  by  almost 
superhuman  labor.  Her  perseverance  was  indefatigable.” 

Once,  when  Madame  Birch-Pfeiffer  left  her  alone,  prac¬ 
tising  the  word  zersplittre ,  on  a  high  B  flat,  in  the  opening 
recitative  in  “  Norma,”  and  returned  several  hours  after¬ 
wards,  she  found  Jenny  Lind  practising  the  same  word. 

“  She  takes  the  greatest  care  of  her  voice,”  Madame 
Clara  Schumann  said.  “  She  does  not  dance,  and  drinks 
neither  wine,  nor  tea,  nor  coffee.  .  .  .  Never,  perhaps, 
have  I  loved  and  reverenced  a  woman  as  I  do  her.” 

She  disliked  the  contortions  of  face  made  by  some  sing¬ 
ers  when  delivering  impressive  passages.  She  was  never 
satisfied  with  a  song  unless  the  singer  “  looked  pleasant.” 

She  never  regretted  her  decision  to  leave  the  stage. 
She  wrote  later  to  Madame  Birch-Pfeiffer  :  “  I  cannot  tell 
you  in  words  how  happy  I  feel  about  it.  I  shall  sing  in 
concerts  ;  ...  in  this  way  I  shall  be  able  to  work  at  least 
five  years  longer ;  and  that  is  necessary  for  me,  as,  for 
the  last  twelve  months,  I  have  sung  only  for  institutions 
and  charities.  Without  a  beautiful  goal  one  cannot  en¬ 
dure  life.  At  least  I  cannot.  I  have  begun  to  sing  what 
has  long  been  the  wish  of  my  heart  —  oratorio.  There  I 
can  sing  the  music  I  love  ;  and  the  words  make  me  feel  a 
better  being.” 

Years  after  Jenny  Lind  had  left  the  stage,  an  English 
friend  found  her  sitting  by  the  sea  with  a  Lutheran  Bible 
open  in  her  hands,  looking  out  into  a  glorious  sunset. 
The  friend  said,  “  How  was  it  that  you  ever  came  to 
abandon  the  stage,  at  the  very  height  of  your  success  ?  ” 
“  When,  every  day,”  was  the  reply,  “  it  made  me  think 
less  of  this,”  laying  a  finger  on  the  Bible,,  “  and  nothing  at 
all  of  that,”  pointing  to  the  sunset,  “what  else  could  I 
do?” 


230 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


The  Bible  was  to  her  a  precious  book.  She  wrote  to  a 
friend  soon  after  she  left  the  stage  :  “  My  Bible  was  never 
more  necessary  to  me  than  now  —  never  more  truly  my 
stay.  I  drink  therein  rest,  self-knowledge,  hope,  faith, 
love,  carefulness,  and  the  fear  of  God ;  so  that  I  look  at 
life  and  the  world  in  quite  another  fashion  to  what  I  did 
before.  Would  that  all  men  would  come  to  this  knowl¬ 
edge,  and  that  we  all  daily  feasted  on  this  Divine  Book.” 

A  little  time  before  leaving  the  stage,  Jenny  Lind 
became  engaged,  in  1848,  to  a  relative  of  the  Grotes, 
Claudius  Harris,  a  young  captain  in  the  Indian  army. 
His  admiration  for  her  singing  had  been  so  great  that 
he  had  followed  her  to  Edinburgh,  Glasgow,  and  other 
places. 

She  talked  with  Mrs.  Stanley,  while  at  the  home  of  the 
Bishop  in  Norwich,  about  her  engagement.  “  I  want  a 
support,”  she  said.  “  I  am  quite  alone,  and  just  when  I 
want  help,  the  finger  of  God  brings  me  this  heart  that 
can  feel  with  me  about  all  works  of  charity,  just  as  I  do. 
I  never  could  marry  any  one  who  did  not  think  with  me 
about  this  :  I  should  say  to  him,  ‘  Good  by  !  good  by  !  ’ 

“We  wish  to  live  quiet  and  uninterrupted  somewhere. 
I  want  to  be  near  trees,  and  water,  and  a  cathedral.  I 
am  tired,  body  and  soul ;  but  my  soul  most!” 

Capt.  Harris’s  mother  was  opposed  to  the  stage,  and  all 
its  associations.  The  son  -was,  also,  but  the  goodness  of 
the  singer  had  blinded  his  eyes  to  her  profession. 

In  the  marriage  settlement,  Jenny  Lind  felt  that  she 
must  retain  the  right  to  sing  when  she  chose,  and  to  have 
control  of  her  own  earnings.  This  freedom  seemed  to  the 
young  man  “  unscriptural !  ”  The  engagement  was  broken. 
The  disappointment  was  painful  at  first,  but  she  soon  felt 
that  good  came  out  of  it. 


JENNY  LIND. 


231 


“  It  has  passed  over  my  soul  like  a  beneficent  storm,” 
she  wrote  Madame  Birch-Pfeiffer,  “  which  has  broken  down 
all  the  hard  shell  of  my  being,  and  has  set  free  many  green 
plants  to  find  their  way  to  the  dear  sun  !  So  that  now  I 
am  always  clothed  in  green,  like  the  fairest  hope  !  And  I 
see  quite  clearly  how  infinitely  much  there  is  for  me  to  do 
with  my  life ;  and  I  have  only  one  prayer,  that  I  may  yet 
live  long,  and  that,  in  the  evening  of  my  life,  I  may  be 
able  to  show  a  pure  soul  to  God.  .  .  . 

“I  am  glad  and  grateful  from  morning  to  night!  I 
have  a  blitheness  in  my  soul,  which  strains  towards  heaven  ! 
I  am  like  a  bird ;  I  do  not  feel  the  least  changed ;  quite 
the  contrary  ;  and  the  ‘  summa  summarum  ’  is  that  I  have 
won  the  greatest  profit  out  of  both  outer  and  inner  mis¬ 
fortune  ;  and  can  thank  God  that  I  know  what  trouble  is  ! 
All  makes  at  last  for  good  !  God  does  not  die.” 

In  the  early  part  of  1850,  Jenny  Lind  sang  at  Gottingen, 
where  the  students  made  her  a  “  Sister- Associate  ”  of  one 
of  their  famous  guilds,  and  hung  her  portrait  in  their 
Assembly  Room.  She  sang  at  Hanover  twice  for  charity  ; 
at  Brunswick,  for  pensions  for  the  ducal  orchestra ;  at 
Liibeck,  for  the  poor ;  for  the  widow  of  the  orchestral 
director,  Bach,  and  for  the  pianist,  Schreinzer,  and 
reached  Stockholm,  May  12,  where  she  gave  six  concerts 
for  the  benefit  of  the  Royal  Theatre,  which  had  educated 
her,  and  sang  at  two  state  concerts  in  honor  of  the 
wedding  of  the  crown  prince. 

The  queen  dowager  begged  her  to  choose  one  of  several 
magnificent  bracelets  placed  before  her,  but  she  preferred, 
and  accepted  instead,  a  bunch  of  forget-me-nots,  which 
were  in  a  vase  on  the  table. 

A  medal  in  gold,  silver,  and  bronze  was  struck  in  her 
honor,  to  which  the  king,  and  other  distinguished  persons 


232 


FA. VO  US  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


of  Sweden,  contributed.  At  her  death,  she  left  these 
medals  to  the  National  Museum  at  Stockholm. 

The  fame  of  Jenny  Lind  had,  of  course,  spread  to  the 
New  World.  The  Emperor  of  Russia,  at  this  time,  offered 
her  $5G,000  for  five  months.  P.  T.  Barnum  determined 
to  bring  the  singer  before  the  American  public,  if  possible. 
He  sent  his  agent  to  Europe,  who  made  a  contract  with 
Jenny  Lind  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  concerts,  at  one 
thousand  dollars  a  night,  with  expenses  paid  for  herself, 
a  companion  and  secretary,  a  servant,  horses  and  car¬ 
riage  furnished.  This  contract  was  afterwards  changed 
by  Mr.  Barnum  in  her  interest,  she  to  receive  half  the 
profits  whenever  the  receipts  were  above  five  thousand  five 
hundred  dollars  a  night,  and  a  right  to  annul  the  contract 
after  sixty  or  one  hundred  concerts,  with  fixed  penalties  in 
either  case.  Mr.  Barnum  had  faith  in  his  venture,  but  the 
American  public  had  not.  He  had  great  difficulty  in  rais¬ 
ing  the  $187,500,  which  he  had  pledged  Jenny  Lind  should 
be  in  the  hands  of  London  bankers  for  herself  and  musi¬ 
cians,  as  her  security.  When  lie  asked  the  president  of  a 
bank  to  aid  him,  the  friend  laughed,  and  said,  “  It  is  gen¬ 
erally  believed  in  Wall  Street  that  your  engagement  with 
Jenny  Lind  will  ruin  you.  I  do  not  believe  you  will  ever 
receive  so  much  as  three  thousand  dollars  at  a  single  con¬ 
cert.”  A  clergyman  loaned  him  the  last  five  thousand 
lollars  needed. 

Jenny  Lind  gave  two  concerts  in  Liverpool  before  start¬ 
ing  for  America.  On  the  last  night,  after  singing  from 
Handel’s  “  Messiah,”  she  closed  with  the  national  anthem. 
The  Ti mes  said,  “The  scene  that  ensued  defies  descrip¬ 
tion.  The  walls  of  the  building  reverberated  with  cheers. 
Hats,  sticks,  handkerchiefs  were  waved  in  every  direction. 
The  platform  of  the  orchestra  was  covered  with  bouquets 


JENNY  LIND. 


233 


and  wreaths,  many  of  which  fell  upon  the  head  and  the 
shoulders  of  the  songstress.” 

She  visited  the  new  wing  of  the  hospital,  whose  erection 
was  due  to  her  last  year’s  singing  ;  and  then,  followed  by 
the  shouts  of  thousands  who  were  assembled  on  either  side 
of  the  Mersey,  and  amid  the  boom  of  cannon,  she  sailed 
away  to  America,  Aug.  21,  1850. 

When  she  arrived,  thousands  were  on  the  dock  eager  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  her.  Triumphal  arches,  surmounted  by 
the  eagle,  bore  the  inscriptions,  “  Welcome,  Jenny  Lind  ! 
Welcome  to  America  !  ”  That  evening  she  was  serenaded 
at  her  hotel,  the  Irving  House,  by  the  New  York  Musical 
Fund  Society,  twenty  thousand  persons  being  present. 

America  seemed  even  more  wild  with  enthusiasm  than 
Europe  had  been.  Tickets  for  the  first  concert,  Sept.  11, 
in  Castle  Garden,  were  sold  by  auction,  some  persons  pay¬ 
ing  as  high  as  six  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  for  a  single 
ticket.  The  “Jenny  Lind  Mania,”  as  it  was  called, 
swept  over  the  country.  Jenny  Lind’s  share,  from  the 
first  concert,  was  nearly  ten  thousand  dollars.  She  imme¬ 
diately  sent  for  the  mayor  of  the  city,  and  divided  it, 
according  to  his  advice,  among  charitable  institutions. 

She  soon  wrote  to  her  parents,  “  I  was  met  with  quite 
an  astonishing  reception.  I  have  already  given  six  con¬ 
certs  there  [New  York],  in  a  hall  with  room  for  eleven 
thousand  people ;  it  has  been  crowded  each  time.” 

From  Boston,  she  wrote  to  her  guardian,  Judge  Munthe, 
“It  is,  indeed,  a  great  joy,  and  a  gift  from  God,  to  be 
allowed  to  earn  so  much  money,  and  afterwards  to  help 
oue’s  fellow-men  with  it.  This  is  the  highest  joy  I  wish 
for  in  this  life ;  everything  else  has  disappeared  from  the 
many-colored  course  of  my  path  on  earth.  Few  know, 
though,  what  a  beautiful  and  quiet  inner  life  I  am  living. 


234 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Few  suspect  how  unutterably  little  the  world  and  its  splen¬ 
dor  have  been  able  to  turn  my  mind  giddy.  Herrings  and 
potatoes,  a  clean  wooden  chair,  and  a  wooden  spoon  to  eat 
milk-soup  with,  —  that  would  make  me  skip,  like  a  child, 
for  joy !  ” 

Mr.  George  William  Curtis,  who  attended  all  the  Lind 
concerts  in  New  York  except  one,  heard  her  first  in  Berlin, 
in  the  part  of  Amina :  he  says  in  his  ewn  book  of  essays, 
“From  the  Easy  Chair,”  written  with  all  his  accustomed 
grace  and  charm  :  “  The  full  volume,  the  touching  sweet¬ 
ness  of  tone,  the  exquisite  warble,  the  amazing  skill  and 
the  marvellous  execution,  Avith  the  perfect  ease  and  repose 
of  consummate  art,  and  the  essential  womanliness  of  the 
whole  impression,  were  indisputable  and  supreme.  .  .  . 
Other  famous  singers  charmed  that  happy  time.  But 
Jenny  Lind,  rivalling  their  art,  went  beyond  them  all  in 
touching  the  heart  with  her  personality.  Certainly,  no 
public  singer  was  eArer  more  invested  with  a  halo  of 
domestic  purity.  When  she  stood  with  her  hands  quietly 
crossed  before  her,  and  tranquilly  sang  ‘  I  knoAV  that  my 
Redeemer  liveth,’  the  lofty  fervor  of  the  tone,  the  rapt 
exaltation  of  the  woman,  Avith  the  splendor  of  the  \rocal- 
ization,  made  the  hearing  an  eA'ent,  and  left  a  memory  as 
of  a  sublime  religious  function.” 

In  New  York,  as  in  Berlin,  Jenny  Lind  was  equally  a 
delight  to  all.  When  she  appeared  in  Castle  Garden,  May 
24,  1852,  “the  magnificent  voice,”  says  Mr.  Curtis, 
“  filled  it  completely,  and  in  the  fascinated  silence  of  the 
immense  throng  every  exquisite  note  of  the  singer  A\'as 
heard.  She  carried  a  fresh  bouquet,  the  gift  of  some 
friend,  each  time  she  appeared.  But  when  at  last  she 
came  forward  to  sing  the  farewell  to  America,  for  which 
Goldschmidt  had  composed  the  music,  she  bore  in  her 


JENNY  JiIND. 


235 


hand  a  bouquet  of  white  rosebuds,  with  a  Maltese  cross  of 
deep  carnations  in  the  ceu.re.  This  she  held  while,  for 
the  last  time  in  public,  she  sang  in  America ;  and  the 
young  traveller  who,  live  years  before,  had  turned  aside  at 
Dresden  to  hear  Jenny  Lind  in  Berlin,  alone  in  all  that 
great  audience  at  Castle  Garden  knew  who  had  sent  those 
flowers.” 

One  night,  in  Boston,  a  girl,  plainly  dressed,  came  to 
the  ticket-office,  and  laying  down  three  dollars,  said, 
“  There  goes  half  a  month’s  earnings,  but  I  am  deter¬ 
mined  to  hear  Jenny  Lind.” 

The  remark  was  repeated  to  the  singer.  “Would  you 
know  the  girl  again  ?  ”  she  asked  the  man.  Upon  receiv¬ 
ing  an  affirmative  reply,  she  answered,  placing  a  twenty- 
dollar  gold  piece  in  his  hand,  “  Poor  girl !  Give  her  that, 
with  my  best  compliments.” 

When  she  was  in  Havana,  she  saw  one  day  a  crippled 
Italian,  Vivalla,  who  had  come  to  see  Mr.  Barnurn,  passing 
out  of  the  gate.  He  had  lost  the  use  of  his  left  side  by 
paralysis,  and,  unable  to  earn  a  living,  gained  a  partial 
support  through  his  dog,  which  turned  a  spinning-wheel, 
and  performed  other  tricks.  Jenny  Lind  was  interested 
in  him,  and  gave  him  five  hundred  dollars,  while  Mr.  Bar¬ 
man  made  the  necessary  arrangements  for  his  return  to 
his  friends  in  Italy. 

Vivalla  called  to  leave  her  a  basket  of  fruit,  with  his 
thanks.  “Mr.  Barnurn,”  he  said,  “I  should  like  so 
much  to  have  the  good  lady  see  my  dog  turn  a  wheel;  it 
is  very  nice ;  he  can  spin  very  good.  Shall  I  bring  the 
dog  and  wheel  for  her?”  Mr  Barnurn  replied  that  she 
would  be  too  busy  to  see  his  dog. 

He  told  the  incident  to  Jenny  Lind,  who  said,  “Poor 
man,  let  him  come ;  it  is  all  the  good  creature  can  do  for 
me.  It  will  make  him  so  happy.” 


236 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Vivalla  came,  and  when  she  saw  him  from  her  window, 
she  hastened  down  stairs,  saying,  “This  is  very  kind  of 
you  to  come  with  your  dog'.  Follow  me.  I  will  carry  the 
wheel  up-stairs.” 

For  an  hour  she  devoted  herself  to  the  happy  cripple. 
She  petted  his  dog,  sang  and  played  for  Vivalla,  and 
finally  carried  his  wheel  to  the  door  for  him.  She  might 
be  a  great  singer  to  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  but  to  this 
poor  Italian  she  seemed  like  an  angel,  sent  directly  from 
Heaven. 

From  the  ninety-three  concerts  given  by  Jenny  Lind, 
under  Mr.  Barnum’s  management,  the  proceeds  were 
$712,161.  Her  portion  was  $176,675.  Sometimes  the 
proceeds  from  a  single  concert  were  over  sixteen  thousand 
dollars.  In  New  York  City  alone  she  gave  away  between 
thirty  and  forty  thousand  dollars  in  charities.  When 
warned  against  so  much  liberality,  as  some  unworthy 
persons  were  seeking  aid,  she  invariably  replied,  “  Never 
mind ;  if  I  relieve  ten,  and  one  is  worthy,  I  am  satisfied.” 

The  last  sixty  nights  of  the  concert  series  were  given 
under  her  own  management,  assisted  by  Mr.  Otto  Gold¬ 
schmidt,  of  Hamburg,  an  accomplished  musician,  At  the 
close  of  her  tour,  she  was  married  to  Mr.  Goldschmidt,  at 
the  house  of  Mr.  S.  G.  Ward,  in  Boston,  by  Bishop  Wain- 
wright,  of  New  York,  Feb.  5,  1852.  The  Hon.  Edward 
Everett,  and  a  few  others,  were  witnesses.  Jenny  Lind 
was,  at  this  time,  thirty-one,  and  her  husband  twenty- 
three,  he  having  been  born  Aug.  21,  1829. 

The  marriage  proved  to  be  a  happy  one.  She  had 
found,  she  wrote  a  friend,  “  all  that  her  heart  ever 
wanted  and  loved.”  Her  charities  in  America  were 
unceasing.  “While  she  habitually  declined,”  says  Mr. 
N.  P.  Willis,  “the  calls  and  attentions  of  fashionable 


JENNY  LIND. 


237 


society,  she  was  in  constant  dread  of  driving  more  humble 
claimants  from  her  door.  She  submitted,  every  day ,  to 
the  visits  of  strangers,  as  far  as  strength  and  her  profes¬ 
sional  duties  would  any  way  endure.  To  use  her  own 
expression,  she  was  ‘  torn  in  pieces.’  ” 

Mr.  Willis  thus  sums  up  the  charms  of  Jenny  Lind : 
“That  God  has  not  made  her  a  wonderful  singer,  and 
then  left  her ,  is  the  curious  exception  she  forms  to  com¬ 
mon  human  allotment.  To  give  away  more  money  in 
charity  than  any  other  mortal,  and  still  be  the  first  of 
prima  donnas  !  .  .  .  To  be  humble,  simple,  genial,  aud 
unassuming,  and  still  be  the  first  of  prima  donnas  !  To 
have  begun  as  a  beggar-child,  and  risen  to  receive  more 
adulation  than  any  queen,  and  still  be  the  first  of  prima 
donnas  !  ...  It  is  the  combination  of  superiorities  and 
interests  that  makes  the  wonder;  it  is  the  concentrating 
of  the  stuff  for  half  a  dozen  heroines  in  one  single  girl  ” 
Henry  F.  Chorley,  the  author,  thought  her  charm  due,  in 
part,  “  to  the  intense  and  unworldly,  if  not  supernatural, 
expression  of  her  countenance,  which  held  fast  many  an 
eye  that  soon  tires  of  regular  beauty,  or  of  features  the 
smile  or  the  sorrow  of  which  may  be  read  at  a  glance.” 

In  1852,  Jenny  Lind-Goldschmidt  and  her  husband  re¬ 
turned  to  Europe,  and  spent  some  years  in  Dresden. 
During  the  early  half  of  1854,  she  sang  in  Berlin,  Leipzig, 
Vienna,  and  Budapesth,  and,  in  the  following  year,  at 
Amsterdam,  Rotterdam,  the  Hague,  and  many  other  cities, 
always  receiving  the  same  enthusiastic  welcome.  In  1856, 
she  sang  in  England,  and  later,  in  Ireland  and  Germany. 

While  living  in  Dresden,  she  wrote  to  a  friend  in  Paris 
of  her  happy  domestic  life  :  “  I  want  to  speak  to  you  of  my 
baby.  Well,  I  must  tell  you  that  God  has  given  my  dear 
husband  and  myself  an  adorable  little  girl,  born  on  the 


238 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


21st  of  March  last.  She  is  the  perfect  image  of  health 
and  happiness.  She  laughs,  she  crows,  in  a  way  to  delight 
all  sympathetic  hearts.  We  have  given  her  a  little  Katha¬ 
rine,  among  other  names,  but  we  call  her  Jenny,  —  I  need 
not  say  in  honor  of  whom. 

“  Our  boy,  Walter,  will  be  four  years  old  the  9th  of 
August  next.  He  is  an  intelligent  child,  very  intelligent, 
very  religious,  and  when  he  has  been  naughty  it  is  touch¬ 
ing  to  see  the  way  he  prays  God  to  make  him  good  again, 
poor  little  chicken.  lie  adores  me,  obeys  me,  and  I  un¬ 
derstand  the  child  completely,  for  he  is  exactly  like  myself 
in  nature,  —  very  impressionable,  active,  gay,  high-tem¬ 
pered,  affectionate,  shy,  good-natured,  quick  to  learn, 
remembering  all  that  he  learns,  preferring  to  the  finest 
toys  a  horrible  old  doll,  because  it  is  one  with  which  he  has 
longest  played,  caring  nothing  about  dress,  but  preferring 
to  be  loved.  Is  he  musical  ?  No,  not  the  least  in  the 
world.  That  is  my  great  despair.  But  he  is  religious, 
and  I  think  he  will  be  a  Christian. 

“  As  to  baby,  I  cannot  say  as  much.  The  little  creature 
eats,  drinks,  laughs,  and  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  her 
character.  My  husband  is  now  in  England  looking  for  a 
residence,  for  we  intend,  on  account  of  our  children,  to 
settle  in  that  country.” 

After  her  return  to  England,  Madame  Goldschmidt  sang 
on  special  occasions  only.  She  gave  three  oratorios  for 
charitable  purposes  at  Exeter  Hall  during  the  Interna¬ 
tional  Exhibition.  In  1865  she  appeared  in  the  “Mes¬ 
siah,”  for  the  Clergy  Fund  Corporation:  in  1866,  at 
Cannes;  in  1867,  at  the  Musical  Festival  at  Hereford; 
in  1869,  in  Hamburg  and  London,  in  “Ruth,”  an  opera 
composed  by  her  husband ;  in  Diisseldorf  and  London, 
in  1870  and  1871,  the  latter  year,  in  concert  with  Madame 


JENNY  LIND. 


239 


Schumann;  in  1873,  at  Northumberland  House,  before 
it  was  taken  down;  in  1877,  in  behalf  of  the  Turkish 
Refugee  Fund;  in  1880,  in  behalf  of  the  Albert  Institute 
in  a  royal  concert  at  Windsor;  in  1883,  her  last  public 
appearance  in  concert,  for  the  Railway  Servants’  Benevo¬ 
lent  Fund,  at  the  Spa,  Malvern  Hills. 

During  her  last  years  she  gave  much  time  to  training 
the  soprano  voices  in  the  Bach  choir,  founded  by  her  hus¬ 
band  in  1875,  and  helping  the  Royal  College  of  Music,  of 
whose  faculty  she  was  a  member. 

These  last  years  were  very  happy,  as  she  saw  her  chil¬ 
dren  and  grandchildren  grow  up  around  her.  In  1887  she 
was  attacked  with  paralysis,  and  was  ill  for  several  weeks. 
As  she  lay  on  her  death-bed,  as  her  daughter  opened  the 
shutters  to  let  in  the  morning  sun,  she  sang  the  first  bars 
of  the  song  she  loved,  “An  den  Sonneuschein,”  the  last 
notes  she  ever  sang. 

She  died  Nov.  2,  1887,  at  Wynds  Point,  her  cottage  on 
Malvern  Hills.  She  was  buried  Saturday,  Nov.  5,  in 
Great  Malvern  Cemetery.  The  Queen  sent  a  wreath  of 
white  flowers  for  the  woman  whom  she  honored. 

In  accordance  with  her  oft-expressed  desire,  the  patch- 
work  quilt,  which  the  children  of  the  United  States  gave 
her,  was  buried  with  her. 

The  money  earned  by  Jenny  Lind  in  America  was 
entirely  set  aside  for  charity,  and  given  away  by  will  at 
her  death.  Fifty  thousand  Swedish  crowns  were  sent  to 
the  University  of  Upsala,  and  the  same  to  the  University 
of  Lund,  to  be  used  in  scholarships  for  poor  students ; 
that  at  Upsala  to  be  called  “  TheGeijer  Scholarship,”  and 
that  at  Lund,  “  The  Bishop  Tegner.”  A  large  portion  of 
the  remainder  of  the  fund  was  giv  n  to  a  hospital  for  poor 
children  at  Stockholm.  She  provided  also  for  Jenny  Lind 


240 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Scholarships  at  the  Royal  Academy  of  Music,  and  the 
Royal  Academy  of  Fine  Arts  in  Stockholm. 

Sir  Julius  Benedict,  who  came  to  America  with  the 
singer  as  musical  director,  pianist,  and  accompanist, 
“regrets,”  he  says,  “that  Jenny  Lind  did  not  turn  her 
powerful  influence  to  better  account  in  America.  There, 
where  all  the  best  materials  abound,  she  might  have  laid 
the  ground-work  of  a  permanent  school  of  music  on  the 
largest  scale  “  in  that  country,”  which  sooner  or  later 
will  distance  old  Europe  in  the  fine  arts,  as  it  does  now 
in  all  branches  of  scientific  invention  and  commercial 
enterprise.” 

Jenny  Lind’s  gifts  have  been  estimated  at  a  half  million 
dollars,  and  this  is,  perhaps,  an  under  estimate. 

Though  very  modest,  she  knew  and  appreciated  her 
genius,  and  spoke  to  her  friends  “  of  the  heavenly  career” 
which  she  had  been  permitted  to  have.  “If  you  knew,” 
she  wrote  in  1847,  “  what  a  sensation  of  the  nearness  of 
a  higher  power  one  instinctively  feels  when  one  is  per¬ 
mitted  to  contribute  to  the  good  of  mankind,  as  I  have 
done,  and  still  do !  Believe  me,  it  is  a  great  gift  of  God’s 
mercy  !  ” 

Jenny  Lind’s  voice  was  so  exceptional,  and  her  char¬ 
acter  so  noble,  that  she  will  always  hold  an  individual  place 
in  the  world  of  art.  “  I  have  heard  greater  artists  than 
the  Lind,”  said  a  famous  physician  of  the  court  of  Berlin, 
“  but  I  have  never  heard  but  one  Lind,  or  any  artist  who 
knew  better  how  to  fascinate.  She  is  certainly  a  marvel¬ 
lous  apparition,  with  an  attraction  that  is  irresistible.” 

As  Emerson  said,  “There  must  be  a  man  behind  the 
work  ”  ;  so  the  world  loved  her,  because  there  was  a  true 
woman  behind  the  gifted  artist. 

“  She  is  simply  an  angel,”  said  the  wife  of  the  Earl  of 
Westmoreland.  So  thought  the  rest  of  the  world. 


DOROTHEA  LYNDE  DIX. 


N  the  town  of  Hampden,  Me.,  April  4,  1802,  wafe  born 


-L  Dorothea  Lynde  Dix.  Neither  child  nor  mother 
appears  to  have  had  any  permanent  home,  as  the  father, 
Joseph  Dix,  was  an  unsuccessful  man,  and  a  wanderer. 

Almost  the  first  knowledge  which  the  world  has  of  the 
child  is  that  when,  at  twelve  years  of  age,  she  was  stitch¬ 
ing  tracts  together  at  Worcester,  Mass.,  which  her  zealous 
father  wrote  and  published  to  save  the  world,  forgetting, 
seemingly,  that  his  family,  a  wife  and  three  children,  were 
in  the  meantime  destitute,  and  that  there  is  high  authority 
that  a  man  should  provide  for  his  own.” 

The  little  girl,  high-spirited,  and  probably  rebelling  that 
she  was  kept  at  her  task  without  education,  ran  away  from 
Worcester,  and  reached  Boston,  the  home  of  her  paternal 
grandmother.  The  latter,  Dorothy  Lynde,  was  a  woman 
of  strong  character,  unemotional,  living  always  by  the 
stern  rule  of  duty.  The  home  was  not  one  of  love  and 
sunshine  for  the  child,  but  a  home,  nevertheless,  where  she 
would  not  want  for  food  or  clothing. 

Her  grandfather,  Dr.  Elijah  Dix,  born  in  Watertown, 
Mass.,  in  1747,  was  a  man  of  unusual  force  and  ability. 
He  became  a  physician  and  surgeon  at  Worcester,  Mass., 
and  later  removed  to  Boston,  where  he  opened  a  drug¬ 
store  on  the  south  side  of  Faneuil  Hall,  and  chemical 
works  at  South  Boston,  for  refining  sulphur  and  purifying 


242 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


camphor.  He  had  great  energy,  large  public  spirit,  and 
will,  qualities  which  seem  to  have  passed  over  the  sou 
Joseph,  and  lodged  in  the  little  granddaughter,  Dorothea. 

He  died  when  the  child  was  seven  years  old.  She  re¬ 
membered  him  as  the  one  bright  feature  of  her  childhood. 
She  could  never  be  brought  to  mention  these  days  of  pov¬ 
erty  and  humiliation,  not  even  to  tell  where  she  was  born, 
other  than  to  say,  pitifully,  “  I  never  knew  childhood." 

Knowing  early  in  life  that  the  support  of  her  mother  and 
her  two  little  brothers,  ten  and  twelve  years  younger  than 
herself,  must  inevitably  fall  upon  her,  she  studied  as  hard 
as  possible,  and  at  fourteen  was  back  in  Worcester,  teach¬ 
ing  a  school  for  little  children. 

So  girlish  was  she  in  looks,  though  mature  in  heart, 
with  the  burden  of  care  laid  upon  her,  she  put  on  long 
dresses,  and  lengthened  her  sleeves,  that  she  might  appear 
older  than  she  was.  She  was  dignified  and  strict,  and 
seems  to  have  prospered  with  the  work. 

After  this  experiment  in  teaching,  she  returned  to  the 
home  of  her  grandmother  in  Boston,  then  a  town  of  forty 
thousand  people,  and  studied  till  she  was  nineteen,  when 
she  opened  a  day-school  in  a  little  house  owned  by  her 
grandmother  in  Orange  Court.  The  school  increased  till 
the  grandmother’s  house  —  euphoniously  styled  the  “  Dix 
Mansion  ”  —  was  opened  for  a  combined  boarding  and  day 
school.  Children  of  prominent  families  came  from  as  far 
away  as  Portsmouth,  N.  H.  Later,  the  two  little  brothers 
came,  and  she  brought  them  up,  as  she  had  expected  to 
do,  providing  for  her  mother  as  well. 

Her  generous  heart  soon  began  to  manifest  itself  in  work 
outside  of  her  school.  She  wrote  to  her  dignified  grand¬ 
mother,  —  perhaps  she  preferred  that  manner  to  a  personal 
interview,  —  “  Had  I  the  saint-like  eloquence  of  our  minis- 


DOROTHEA  LYNDE  DIX. 


243 


ter,  I  would  employ  it  in  explaining  all  the  motives,  and 
dwelling  on  all  the  good,  —  good  to  the  poor,  the  miser¬ 
able,  the  idle,  and  the  ignorant,  which  would  follow  your 
giving  me  permission  to  use  the  barn  chamber  for  a  school¬ 
room  for  charitable  and  religious  purposes.  You  have  read 
Hannah  More’s  life.  You  approve  of  her  labors  for  the 
most  degraded  of  England’s  paupers  ;  why  not,  when  it  can 
be  done  without  exposure  or  expense,  let  me  rescue  some 
of  America’s  miserable  children  from  vice  and  guilt?  ” 

The  school  was  started  in  the  barn,  and  out  of  it  grew 
the  work  of  the  Warren  Street  Chapel,  says  the  Rev. 
Francis  Tiffany,  of  Cambridge,  Mass.,  to  whose  admirable 
life  of  Miss  Dix,  by  which  he  has  done  a  real  service  to 
humanity,  I  am  indebted  for  most  of  the  facts  of  this 
sketch. 

These  months  were  full  of  exhausting  labor.  She 
studied  hard  to  improve  her  mind,  “  almost  worshipping 
talent,”  she  said.  She  cared  for  her  aged  grandmother, 
for  her  brothers,  superintended  the  house,  and  taught  both 
schools,  rising  before  daylight,  and  not  retiring  till  after 
midnight.  Besides  this,  she  wrote  “  Conversations  on 
Common  Things,”  which  has  gone  through  sixty  editions. 

As  a  result  of  all  this  labor,  she  broke  down  in  health, 
and  was  glad  to  accept  the  offer  of  Dr.  William  Ellery 
Channing,  to  care  for  the  education  of  his  children  for  the 
six  months  of  the  summer  of  1827,  when  the  family  were 
at  their  country  home  in  Portsmouth,  R.  I.  Here  she 
found  great  rest  and  pleasure  in  studying  shells  and  sea¬ 
weed,  as,  indeed,  in  every  department  of  natural  history. 

She  bemoaned  her  illness,  but  not  for  herself.  She 
wrote  a  friend,  “  It  is  for  him  [her  little  brother]  my 
soul  is  tilled  with  bitterness  when  sickness  wastes  me  ;  is 
because  of  him  I  dread  to  die.” 


244 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


For  three  or  four  years,  being  unable  to  teach  very 
much,  she  compiled  several  books,  mostly  of  a  devotional 
character.  In  1830,  she  went  with  the  Channing  family 
to  the  island  of  St.  Croix,  in  the  West  Indies,  and  there, 
besides  teaching  the  children,  she  made  collections  of 
tropical  plants  and  birds,  which  she  gave  to  Professor 
Benjamin  Silliman,  Audubon,  and  others. 

In  1831,  she  opened  her  school  again  in  the  Dix  Man¬ 
sion,  ambitious  to  carry  out  her  ideal  of  education,  and  de¬ 
termined  to  earn  a  competency,  that  she  might  not  be 
impecunious  like  her  parents.  To  the  end  of  her  life  she 
would  never  be  long  dependent  upon  others,  or  be  paid 
for  her  benevolent  work. 

Her  school  seems  to  have  been  an  excellent  one  for 
those  times,  with,  perhaps,  the  duty-line  too  prominent  for 
the  sunny  life  of  childhood.  The  children  were  requested 
to  write  letters  to  their  teacher,  which  she  answered,  often 
long  after  midnight.  One  child  wrote  :  “  I  thought  I  was 
doing  very  well  until  I  read  your  letter  ;  but  when  3'ou  said 
that  you  were  ‘  rousing  to  greater  energy,’  all  my  self- 
satisfaction  vanished.  For  if  you  are  not  satisfied  in  some 
measure  with  yourself,  and  are  going  to  do  more  than  you 
have  done,  I  don’t  know  what  I  shall  do.  You  do  not  go 
to  rest  until  midnight,  and  then  you  rise  very  early.” 

“She  was,  at  this  time,”  says  a  lady  who  attended  her 
school,  “  in  the  prime  of  her  years,  tall  and  of  dignified  car¬ 
riage,  head  finely  shaped  and  set,  with  an  abundance  of 
soft,  wavy,  brown  hair.  Next  to  my  mother,  I  thought 
her  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  had  ever  seen.  She  fasci¬ 
nated  me  from  the  first,  as  she  had  done  many  of  my  class 
before  me.” 

Her  voice  was  especially  rich,  low,  and  musical  in  its 
tone;  her  eyes  were  brilliant  blue-gray,  “their  pupils  so 


D  OB  0  THE  A  LYNDE  DIX. 


245 


large  and  dilating  as  to  cause  them  often  to  be  taken  for 
black,”  and  her  manner  modest,  yet  showing  command 
over  self,  and  power  over  others. 

After  five  years  more  of  teaching,  Miss  Dix  broke  down 
competely,  and  was  obliged  to  go  abroad.  Dr.  Channing 
gave  her  letters  of  introduction  to  friends,  among  whom 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  William  Rathbone,  of  Liverpool,  wealthy 
Unitarians,  proved  friends  indeed.  For  a  year  and  a  half 
the  invalid  found  this  home  one  of  love  and  rest.  They 
did  not  realize,  probably,  that  they  were  prolonging  her 
life  for  a  wonderful  work.  She.  seems  to  have  found  here, 
almost  for  the  first  time,  the  affection  of  which  her 
woman’s  heart  had  been  deprived. 

During  this  absence  from  America,  ner  mother  died  in 
1836,  and  her  grandmother  also,  who  left  her  enough 
property,  combined  with  what  she  had  earned,  to  sup¬ 
port  her  comfortably  through  life.  Iler  brothers  had 
now  come  to  self-support.  One,  Charles,  graduated  from 
the  Boston  Latin  School  in  1832,  and  died  in  the  ship 
which  he  commanded  in  1843,  on  the  western  coast  of 
Africa.  Joseph  became  a  prosperous  merchant  in  Boston. 

Miss  Dix  came  home  in  the  autumn  of  1837.  Such  a 
woman  could  not  be  idle.  She  was  now  thirty-five,  im¬ 
proving  in  health,  and  getting  ready  for  work ;  and  her 
work  was  preparing  for  her. 

Coming  out  of  church  one  Sunday  morning  in  the  spring 
of  1841,  it  is  said  that  she  overheard  two  men  talking  of 
the  inhuman  treatment  of  the  prisoners  and  lunatics  in  the 
jail  of  East  Cambridge,  Mass.  About  this  time,  at  the 
suggestion  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Nichols,  of  Saco,  Me.,  then  a 
theological  student  in  Cambridge,  Miss  Dix  was  asked  to 
teach,  in  Sunday  school,  the  women,  some  twenty  in 
number,  in  the  East  Cambridge  House  of  Correction. 


246 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


With  most  excellent  common-sense,  for  which  she  was 
always  remarkable,  she  reasoned  that  it  was  idle  to  teach 
Christianity  to  people  who  were  cold  and  ill-fed,  unless 
their  bodies  were  cared  for  as  well  as  their  souls.  She  de¬ 
termined  to  investigate  matters,  and  found  the  jail  over¬ 
crowded,  filthy;  innocent,  guilty,  and  insane  all  together; 
no  fires,  with  the  thermometer  below  zero.  She  protested, 
and  was  told  by  the  jailor  that  “  fire  was  not  needed,  and 
would  not  be  safe.” 

Duty  had  too  long  been  the  watchword  of  Dorothea 
Dix  for  her  to  keep  silent,  and  do  nothing.  She  at  once 
applied  to  that  noble  philanthropist,  Dr.  S.  G-.  Howe,  who 
made  a  careful  investigation  of  the  matter,  and  wrote  a 
letter  to  the  Boston  Advertiser.  Charles  Sumner,  too, 
added  his  voice.  Of  course,  the  statements  were  de¬ 
nied  by  those  in  charge  of  the  jail,  but  the  matter  was 
carried  to  the  courts,  and  the  rooms  were  soon  cleaned  and 
warmed. 

Miss  Dix  had  begun  her  life-work  at  thirty-nine.  It 
was  to  know  little  or  no  cessation  for  nearly  fifty  years. 

Much  had  been  done  both  in  France  and  England  to 
ameliorate  the  cruel  condition  of  the  insane.  In  former 
times  they  were  chained  to  their  beds,  to  their  walls,  and 
kept  worse  than  dumb  beasts.  One  man  in  Paris,  when 
Dr.  Philippe  Pinel  undertook  his  work  of  mercy,  had  been 
in  chains  for  forty  years.  When  his  chains  were  removed, 
he  could  not  stand  at  first,  but  finally  tottered  to  the  light, 
and,  looking  up  to  the  sky,  exclaimed,  “Ah,  how  beau¬ 
tiful  ! 

The  noble  Lord  Shaftesbury  labored  in  England  for 
seventeen  years  to  do  away  with  the  terrible  abuses.  The 
insane  at  that  time  were  lashed  into  obedience  by  their 
keepers,  and,  for  misconduct,  chained  in  wells,  the  water 


D  OB  0  THE A  LYNDE  DIX. 


247 


reaching  to  their  chins.  They  were  kept  in  dungeons  if 
violent,  and  fed  on  bread  and  water.  Lord  Shaftesbury 
found  that  from  seventy-five  to  eighty  per  cent  might  be 
cured,  if  treated  in  the  first  twelve  months  ;  only  five  per 
cent,  when  the  treatment  was  deferred. 

Miss  Dix,  alone  and  unaided,  determined  to  see  if  the 
other  prisons  and  almshouses  in  Massachusetts  were  like 
the  one  in  East  Cambridge.  She  was  a  delicate  and  sensi¬ 
tive  woman,  but  heroic  when  there  was  a  duty  to  be  per¬ 
formed.  She  went  over  the  State  carefully,  notebook  in 
hand.  Another  woman,  without  the  authority  of  town  or 
State,  would  not  have  dared,  perhaps,  to  ask  jailors  to  open 
doors.  She  dared,  and  entered,  and  observed  closely. 

When  her  examinations  had  been  made,  she  wrote  her 
Memorial  to  the  State  Legislature  of  Massachusetts,  stat¬ 
ing  concisely  and  clearly  what  she  had  seen.  “  I  proceed, 
gentlemen,”  she  said,  “  to  call  your  attention  to  the  pres¬ 
ent  state  of  insane  persons  confined  within  this  Common¬ 
wealth  in  cages,  closets,  cellars,  stalls,  pens ;  chained,  naked , 
beaten  with  rods,  and  lashed  into  obedience.” 

She  told  of  a  young  woman  at  Danvers,  nearly  nude, 
confined  in  a  cage,  where  the  air  was  so  offensive  that  no 
one  could  go  near  her.  She  told  of  another,  at  Saudisfield, 
who  had  been  chained  and  beaten,  who  “was  put  up  at 
auction  (the  town’s  poor) ,  and  bid  off  at  the  lowest  price 
which  was  declared  for  her.  One  year,  not  long  past,  an 
old  man  came  forward  in  the  number  of  applicants  for  the 
poor  wretch  ;  he  was  taunted  and  ridiculed.  What  would 
he  and  his  old  wife  do  with  such  a  mere  beast? 

“  ‘  My  wife  says  yes,’  replied  he  ;  ‘  and  I  shall  take  her.’ 

“  She  was  given  to  his  charge;  he  conveyed  her  home; 
she  was  washed,  neatly  dressed,  and  placed  in  a  decent 
bed-room,  furnished  for  comfort,  and  opening  into  the 


248 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


kitchen.  How  altered  her  condition  !  As  yet,  the  chains 
were  not  off.  The  first  week,  she  was  somewhat  restless, 
at  times,  violent,  but  the  quiet  ways  of  the  'old  people 
wrought  a  change.  .  .  .  After  a  week,  the  chain  was 
lengthened,  and  she  was  received  as  a  companion  into  the 
kitchen.  Soon  she  engaged  in  trivial  employments. 

“  ‘  After  a  fortnight,’  said  the  old  man,  ‘  I  knocked  off 
the  chains,  and  made  her  a  free  woman.’  She  is  at  times 
excited,  but  not  violently;  they  are  careful  of  her  diet; 
they  keep  her  very  clean ;  she  calls  them  father  and 
mother.” 

At  Groton,  Miss  Dix  found  a  }Toung  man  with  an  iron 
collar  around  his  neck,  and  chained  in  a  small  wooden 
building  apart  from  the  almshouse,  sitting  month  after 
month  in  darkness  and  alone.  He  was  declared  incurably 
insane.  The  keeper  of  the  poor  house,  who  had  provided 
the  iron  collar  and  chain,  spoke  of  it  as  his  favorite  remedy. 
“  I  had  a  cousin,”  he  said,  “  up  in  Vermont,  crazy  as  a 
wildcat,  and  I  got  a  collar  made  for  him,  and  he  liked  it.” 

“  Liked  it !  ”  said  Miss  Dix,  in  her  calm  manner,  though 
horrified  at  the  hard-heartedness  of  the  man,  “  how  did  he 
manifest  his  pleasure  ?  ” 

“  Why,  he  left  off  trying  to  run  away.” 

The  man  at  Groton  had  become  insane  while  at  work, 
and  was  taken  to  the  poorhouse.  A  band  of  iron,  an  inch 
wide,  was  put  about  his  neck,  to  which  a  chain,  six  feet 
long,  was  attached.  Manacles  were  on  his  wrists.  He 
was  finally  removed  to  the  McLean  Asylum,  at  Somerville, 
where  his  shackles  were  immediately  knocked  off,  and  his 
swollen  limbs  gently  chafed.  The  delighted  maniac  ex¬ 
claimed  to  his  keeper,  “  My  good  man,  I  must  kiss 
you.” 

The  young  man  remained  for  four  months,  was  never 


DOROTHEA  LYNDE  DIX. 


249 


violent,  and  gave  hope  of  complete  recovery  when  the 
overseers  of  the  poor,  feeling  unable  to  pay  three  dollars  a 
week,  carried  him  back  to  the  chains  of  Groton,  where,  no 
wonder,  he  soon  became  incurable  1 

At  Shelburne,  Miss  Dix  found  a  man  nearly  dead,  half 
frozen,  his  food  put  into  his  filthy  pen  through  bars.  The 
keeper  poked  him  about  with  a  stick. 

When  the  memorial  of  Miss  Dix  was  published,  the 
State  was  shocked  at  the  revelation.  The  almshouse 
keepers  pronounced  the  incidents  “  sensational  and  slan¬ 
derous  lies  !  ”  The  keepers  had  visions  of  near-at-hand 
struggles  to  obtain  new  positions,  as  many  would  inevi¬ 
tably  lose  their  places. 

Some  persons  delared  that  this  public  work  of  searching 
out  misdeeds  was  unbecoming  in  a  woman  !  Alas,  this 
lias  been  the  old  argument  used  since  the  time  of  Eve  ! 
Rut  gentle,  yet  firm,  Dorothea  Dix,  went  quietly  on  her 
way,  trusting  in  God,  and  in  the  righteousness  of  her 
cause. 

It  was  soon  found  that  the  State  had  provision  for  only 
five  hundred  insane,  while  there  were  in  the  Commonwealth 
nearly  one  thousand  pauper  insane  and  idiotic  persons, 
besides  eight  hundred  cared  for  privately.  Additional 
buildings  were  soon  erected  for  the  insane,  and  many  evils 
remedied. 

But  Miss  Dix  was  satisfied  that  if  such  things  were 
found  in  the  progressive  State  of  Massachusetts,  other 
States  needed  her  keen  eyes  and  fearless  heart.  Perhaps 
she  shrank  from  the  labor  and  the  unpleasantness.  All 
the  same,  she  went  forward. 

Rhode  Island  was  her  next  field  for  operations.  She 
visited,  unobtrusively,  the  institutions,  and  made  notes 
through  several  months. 


250 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


At  Little  Compton,  she  found  Abram  Simmons.  He 
was  in  a  stone  structure,  like  a  tomb,  unlighted  and  un¬ 
ventilated.  “  The  place,”  she  says,  “  was  about  seven 
feet  by  seven,  and  six  and  a  half  high.  All,  even  the  roof, 
was  of  stone.  An  iron  frame,  interlaced  with  rope,  was 
the  sole  furniture.  The  place  was  filthy,  damp,  and  noi¬ 
some  ;  and  the  inmate,  the  helpless  and  dependent  creature, 
cast  by  the  will  of  Providence  on  the  care  and  sympathies 
of  his  fellowman,  —  there  he  stood,  near  the  door,  motion¬ 
less  and  silent ;  his  tangled  hair  fell  about  his  shoulders ; 
his  bare  feet  pressed  the  filthy,  wet  stone  floor ;  he  was 
emaciated  to  a  shadow,  and  more  resembled  a  disinterred 
corpse  than  any  living  creature.  Never  have  I  looked  upon 
an  object  so  pitiable,  so  woe-struck,  so  imaging  despair. 

“  I  took  his  hands  and  endeavored  to  warm  them  by 
gentle  friction.  I  spoke  to  him  of  release,  of  liberty,  of 
care  and  kindness.  Notwithstanding  the  assertions  of  the 
mistress,  that  he  would  kill  me,  I  persevered.  A  tear 
stole  over  the  hollow  cheek,  but  no  words  answered  to  my 
importunities.  ...  In  moving  a  little  forward,  I  struck 
against  something  which  returned  a  sharp  metallic  sound ; 
it  was  a  length  of  ox-chain,  connected  to  an  iron  ring 
which  encircled  a  leg  of  the  insane  man.  At  one  extrem¬ 
ity  it  was  joined  to  what  is  termed  ‘  a  solid  chain,’  — 
namely,  bars  of  iron  eighteen  inches  or  two  feet  long? 
linked  together,  and  at  one  end  connected  by  a  staple  to 
the  rock  overhead.  ‘  My  husband,’  said  the  mistress, 
‘  in  winter  takes  out  sometimes,  of  a  morning,  half  a 
bushel  of  frost,  and  yet  he  never  freezes,’  —  referring  to 
the  oppressed  and  life-stricken  maniac  before  us.  ‘  Some¬ 
times  he  screams  dreadfully,’  she  added  ;  ‘  and  that  is  the 
reason  we  had  the  double  wall,  and  two  doors  in  place  of 
one  ;  his  cries  disturbed  us  in  the  house.’  ” 


DOROTHEA  LYXDE  DIX. 


251 


“  How  long  has  he  been  here?  ”  asked  Miss  Dix. 

“  ‘  Oh,  above  three  years  ;  but,  then,  he  was  kept  a  long- 
while  in  a  cage  first ;  but  once  he  broke  his  chains  and  the 
bars,  and  escaped  ;  so  we  had  this  built  where  he  can’t  get 
off.’  Get  off  !  No,  indeed  ;  as  well  might  the  buried  dead 
break  through  the  sealed  gates  of  the  tomb  !  ” 

The  frost  on  the  inside  of  this  stone  cell,  where  poor,  in¬ 
sane  Abram  Simmons  lived,  was  often  half  an  inch  thick, 
and  the  outside  blanket  of  his  bed  was  frozen  with  the 
drippings  from  the  wall.  With  wet  straw  to  lie  upon,  and 
wet  clothing  to  cover  him,  the  dreary  winters  passed,  one 
after  another.  And  all  this  in  a  Christian  State ! 

All  over  Rhode  Island  Miss  Dix  found  mismanagement, 
lack  of  accommodation,  and  inhumanity  unknown  to  the 
public.  When  one  of  the  leading  men  of  the  State  pre¬ 
sented  the  memorial  which  she  had  prepared,  the  people 
were  shocked,  as  they  had  been  in  Massachusetts. 

What  was  to  be  done?  The  small  asylum  in  the  city  of 
Providence  needed  enlarging.  She  determined  to  visit  a 
well-known  millionnaire,  and  ask  his  aid.  People  smiled  at 
her  hopeless  errand,  for  Mr.  Butler  had  not  been  a  giver 
of  his  wealth.  She  laid  the  matter  before  him,  with  her 
almost  unsurpassed  earnestness  and  eloquence.  He  lis¬ 
tened,  spell  bound,  and  then  said  abruptly,  “  What  do  you 
want  me  to  do  ?  ” 

“  Sir,  I  want  you  to  give  $50,000  toward  the  enlarge¬ 
ment  of  the  insane  hospital  in  this  city.” 

“  Madame,  I  ’ll  do  it !  ”  was  his  answer  ;  and  “  Butler 
Hospital  ”  was  the  result. 

New  Jersey  was  the  next  State  visited,  and  Hon.  Joseph 
S.  Dodd  presented  her  memorial.  And  then,  as  usual, 
followed  some  of  her  hardest  work.  As  soon  as  the  memo¬ 
rial  was  published,  she  began  to  write  editorials  for  the 


252 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  W031ANH00D. 


press,  and  letters  to  prominent  persons,  urging  them  to 
use  their  pens  and  their  voices  for  whatever  measure  was 
proposed.  She  was  generally  given  an  alcove  in  the 
library,  or  other  public  building,  and  hither  friends  brought 
member  after  member  of  the  Legislature  that  she  might 
convince  them  with  her  sincerity  and  her  power.  Some¬ 
times,  at  the  parlor  of  her  boarding-house,  she  would 
invite  fifteen  or  twenty  members  for  a  conference  on  the 
memorial,  or  the  bill  following  it.  She  had  great  tact,  and 
was  a  consummate  judge  of  human  nature.  She  was  care¬ 
ful  not  to  give  offence,  while  she  was  a  master  in  executive 
ability  and  leadership. 

While  thus  laboring  at  Trenton,  she  wrote  to  a  friend 
in  Philadelphia,  says  her  biographer :  “  You  cannot  im¬ 
agine  the  labor  of  conversing  and  convincing.  Some 
evenings  I  had  at  once  twenty  gentlemen  for  three  hours’ 
steady  conversation.  The  last  evening,  a  rough  country 
member,  who  had  announced  in  the  House  that  the  ‘  wants 
of  the  insane  in  New  Jersey  were  all  humbug,’  and  who 
came  to  overwhelm  me  with  his  arguments,  after  listen¬ 
ing  an  hour  and  a  half,  with  wonderful  patience,  to 
my  details,  and  the  principles  of  treatment,  suddenly 
moved  into  the  middle  of  the  parlor,  and  thus  delivered 
himself  :  ‘  Ma’am,  I  bid  you  good  night !  I  do  not  want, 
for  my  part,  to  hear  anything  more  ;  the  others  can  stay,  if 
they  want  to.  I  am  convinced;  you  ’ve  conquered  me  out 
and  out ;  I  shall  vote  for  the  hospital.  If  you  ’ll  come  to 
the  House,  and  talk  there  as  you  have  here,  no  man  that 
is  n’t  a  brute  can  stand  you  ;  and  so,  when  a  man ’s  con¬ 
vinced,  that ’s  enough.  The  Lord  bless  you  !  ’  —  and 
thereupon  he  departed.” 

Miss  Dix  met  with  all  sorts  of  obstacles.  People  did 
not  like  to  be  taxed,  either  for  the  sane  or  the  insane. 


DOROTHEA  LYNDE  DIX. 


253 


Some  called  her  a  “  Heaven-sent  Angel  of  Mercy,”  and 
immediately  voted  against  her  bill.  Some  wished  she  had 
never  come  into  their  State ;  but  always  when  the  hard 
work  had  been  done,  and  the  bill  passed,  and  a  noble 
institution  built,  then  the  Legislature  and  the  people 
always  passed  a  vote  of  thanks,  and  believed,  as  she 
herself  believed,  “that  she  was  called  by  Providence  to 
the  vocation  to  which  life,  talents,  and  fortune  have  been 
surrendered  these  many  years.” 

While  working  in  New  Jersey  she  had  also  been  labor¬ 
ing  in  Pennsylvania,  and  in  1845  bills  for  State  insane 
asylums  were  carried  in  each  State.  Besides  work  in  these 
two  States,  she  visited  the  State  prisons  of  Louisiana  at 
Baton  Rouge,  of  Mississippi  at  Jackson,  of  Arkansas  at 
Little  Rock,  of  Missouri  at  Jefferson  City,  and  of  Illinois 
at  Alton.  During  the  three  years,  ending  with  1845,  Miss 
Dix  travelled,  in  her  arduous  labors  of  love,  over  ten  thou¬ 
sand  miles.  And  yet  she  was  frail  in  body,  and  naturally 
timid  !  Much  of  this  journeying  was  over  bad  roads, 
the  water  and  mud  sometimes  coining  up  to  the  body  of 
her  carriage  ;  “  but  she  always  took  with  her  for  emergen¬ 
cies,”  says  Mr.  Tiffany,  “  an  outfit  of  hammer,  wrench, 
nails,  screws,  a  coil  of  rope,  and  straps  of  stout  leather, 
which,  under  many  a  mishap,  sufficed  to  put  things  to 
rights,  and  enable  her  to  pursue  her  journey.” 

“  She  travelled  all  over  the  country,”  says  a  friend, 
“  with  a  moderate  valise  in  her  hand,  and  wearing  a  plain 
gray  travelling-dress,  with  snow-white  collar  and  cuffs. 
Her  trunk  was  sent  a  Aveek  ahead,  with  the  necessary 
changes  of  linen,  etc.,  and  one  plain  black-silk  dress  for 
special  occasions.  Neatness  in  everything  indicated  her 
well-directed  mind  ” 

She  was  now  but  little  past  forty,  and  her  work  seemed 


254 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


but  just  beginning.  She  went  to  North  Carolina  where  her 
bill  for  the  Raleigh  Insane  Asylum  had  been  once  defeated. 
The  Hon.  James  C.  Dobbin,  afterwards  Secretary  of  the 
Navy,  was  her  helpful  friend.  His  wife,  during  an  illness, 
had  received  great  kindness  from  Miss  Dix,  and  not  un¬ 
mindful  of  such  kindness,  Mrs.  Dobbin,  on  her  dying  bed, 
besought  her  husband  to  see  that  Miss  Dix’s  bill  was 
passed.  When  the  time  came  for  him  to  speak  upon  the 
bill,  his  eloquence,  the  memory  of  his  lovely  wife,  his 
own  overwhelming  sorrow,  all  added  to  his  brilliant  gifts. 
The  bill  passed  by  one  hundred  and  one  ayes  to  ten  nays. 

Miss  Dix  went  on  her  way  to  Alabama  rejoicing.  Here 
the  work  was  delayed  —  though  only  for  a  year  or  two  — 
by  the  burning  of  the  State  Capitol,  and  other  matters ; 
but  Miss  Dix  wrote  a  friend,  “  I  have  recollected  amidst 
these  perplexities  that  God  requires  no  more  to  be  accom¬ 
plished  than  He  gives  time  for  performing,  and  I  turn  now 
more  quietly  to  my  work  up  the  Hill  Difficulty.  The 
summit  is  cloud-capped,  but  I  have  passed  amidst  dark 
and  rough  ways  before,  and  shall  not  now  give  out.” 

In  Mississippi,  where  the  Legislature  determined  “  not 
to  give  a  dime,”  the  members  voted  to  give  land,  and  three 
million  brick,  and  fifty  thousand  dollars,  and  wished  to 
name  the  hospital  after  her.  This  she  always  declined, 
only  in  a  single  instance  permitting  one  in  Pennsylvania 
to  be  called  “  Dixmont  Hospital,”  in  honor  of  her  grand¬ 
father,  who  founded  the  town  of  Dixmont,  in  Maine. 

In  many  other  States  —  Tennessee,  Indiana,  Kentucky, 
Maryland  —  she  accomplished  much.  She  knew  no  such 
word  as  failure.  When  told,  “  Nothing  can  be  done 
here  !  ”  she  replied,  “  I  know  no  such  word  in  the  vocab¬ 
ulary  I  adopt.”  She  used  to  say,  “The  tonic  I  need  is 
the  tonic  of  opposition.  That  always  sets  me  on  my  feet.” 


DOROTHEA  LYNDE  DIX. 


255 


And  she  had  that  peculiar  tonic  administered  in  large 
quantity  through  life. 

She  was  consulted  about  proper  sites  for  asylums,  meth¬ 
ods  of  building,  the  right  persons  to  be  placed  in  charge, 
and  a  thousand  matters  that  taxed  heart  and  brain. 
When  a  special  piece  of  ground  was  desired  at  Washing¬ 
ton,  D.  C.,  for  the  Hospital  for  the  Insane  of  the  Army 
and  Navy,  she  went  to  the  owner,  Mr.  Thomas  Blagden, 
and  begged  him  to  sell  it.  He  could  not  bear  to  part  with 
it,  as  it  was  dear  to  himself  and  his  family.  But  after  a 
visit  from  Miss  Dix,  he  sold  it  for  fifteen  thousand  dollars 
less  than  his  price,  though  it  cost  him  much  anguish  of 
heart,  and  wear  of  body.  Neither  he  nor  his  wife  could 
stand  between  Miss  Dix  and  her  cherished  plans;  “re¬ 
garding  you  as  we  do,”  he  wrote  her,  “  as  the  instrument 
in  the  hands  of  God  to  secure  this  very  spot  for  the  un¬ 
fortunates,  whose  best  earthly  friend  you  are,  and  believ¬ 
ing  sincerely  that  the  Almighty’s  blessing  will  not  rest  on, 
nor  abide  with,  those  who  may  place  obstacles  in  your 
way.” 

She  was  always  collecting  from  the  many  homes  where 
she  found  a  warm  welcome,  such  things  as  music-boxes, 
minerals,  puzzles,  bird’s-nests,  flowers,  toys,  with  which  to 
amuse  the  poor  insane  creatures,  whom  she  had  seen 
shut  up  alone  and  in  darkness. 

What  wonder  that  the  people  looked  upon  her  as  an 
angel  of  mercy  !  Dr.  Francis  Lieber  wrote  from  Colum¬ 
bia,  S.  C.,  to  George  S.  Hillard,  of  Boston:  “What  a 
heroine  she  is  !  May  God  protect  her  !  Over  the  whole 
breadth  and  length  of  the  land  are  her  footsteps,  and 
where  she  steps  flowers  of  the  richest  odor  of  humanity  are 
sprouting  and  blooming  as  on  an  angel’s  path.  I  have  the 
highest  veneration  for  her  heart,  and  will,  and  head.” 


256 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


She  wrote  Mrs.  Hare,  of  Philadelphia,  from  Texas : 
“  My  eyes  fill  with  tears  at  the  homely  heart-welcome,  the 
confidence,  the  cordial  good-will,  and  the  succession  of 
incidents,  proving  that  I  do,  in  very  truth,  dwell  in  the 
hearts  of  my  countrymen.  I  am  so  astonished  that  my 
wishes  in  regard  to  institutions,  my  opinions  touching 
organization,  are  considered  definitive.” 

Once  she  was  taking  dinner  at  a  small  public-house  on 
a  prairie.  When  she  offered  to  pay,  the  owner  said, 
u  No,  no,  by  George  !  I  don’t  take  money  from  you; 
why,  I  never  thought  I  should  see  you,  and  now  you  are 
in  my  house!  You  have  done  good  to  everybody  for 
years  and  years.  Make  sure,  now,  there ’s  a  home  for 
you  in  every  hou=e  in  Texas.” 

Once,  when  travelling  in  Michigan,  in  an  uninhabited 
portion  of  the  country,  she  observed  that  her  driver,  a 
youth,  had  a  pair  of  pistols  with  him.  She  said,  “  Give 
me  the  pistols ;  I  will  take  care  of  them  ” ;  to  which  the 
lad  reluctantly  consented. 

Going  through  a  dismal  forest,  a  man  caught  the  horse 
by  the  bridle,  and  demanded  Miss  Dix’s  purse.  With  her 
sweet  voice,  she  said,  “Are  you  not  ashamed  to  rob  a 
woman?  I  have  but  little  money,  and  that  I  want  to  de¬ 
fray  my  expenses  in  visiting  prisons  and  poorhouses,  and, 
occasionally,  m  giving  to  objects  of  charity.  If  you  have 
been  unfortunate,  are  in  distress,  and  in  want  of  money, 
I  will  give  you  some.” 

The  man  turned  deadly  pale,  exclaiming,  “  My  God  ! 
that  voice  !  ”  He  told  her  that  he  had  heard  her  speak  to 
the  convicts  in  the  Philadelphia  prison,  and  expressed  sor¬ 
row  for  having  disturbed  her.  She  offered  him  money  till 
he  should  find  some  honest  employment.  He  declined  at 
first,  but  she  insisted,  telling  him  that  he  would  be  tempted 


DOROTHEA  LYNDE  DIX. 


257 


to  rob  somebody  else,  if  he  had  no  money.  But  for  her 
presence  of  mind  in  taking  the  pistols,  doubtless  some 
one  would  have  been  murdered. 

She  did  not  confine  her  work  to  asylums  and  prisons. 
She  said,  “  My  conviction  of  the  necessity  of  search  into 
the  wants  of  the  friendless  and  afflicted  has  deepened.  If 
I  am  cold,  they  are* cold;  if  I  am  weary,  they  are  dis¬ 
tressed  ;  if  I  am  alone,  they  are  abandoned.” 

While  engaged  in  asylum-work  at  St.  Johns,  Newfound¬ 
land,  there  was  a  dreadful  storm,  with  many  shipwrecks. 
Knowing  that  at  Sable  Island,  some  thirty  miles  off  the 
southeast  coast  of  Nova  Scotia,  there  had  been  many 
wrecks,  she  determined  to  visit  the  place,  and  see  if  there 
could  not  be  some  remedy  for  the  frequent  loss  of  lives. 
While  there,  a  new  vessel  was  wrecked  in  a  dense  fog, 
though  all  lives  were  saved.  The  captain,  the  last  person 
on  board,  had  become  a  raving  maniac,  and  refused  to 
leave  the  wreck.  Miss  Dix  begged  the  sailors  to  go  back 
for  him  in  the  life-boat,  and  save  his  life,  if  they  had  to 
bind  him  for  safety.  They  did  as  she  requested,  and 
brought  him  bound  hand  and  foot.  Miss  Dix  loosened 
his  cords,  took  him  by  the  arm,  and  led  him  away,  calming 
him  by  her  persuasive  manner  and  gentle  words. 

She  hurried  back  to  Boston  to  confer  with  Capt.  R.  B. 
Forbes,  of  the  Humane  Society,  as  to  the  building  of 
modern  life-boats,  and  other  life-saving  equipments.  She 
raised  funds  in  Boston,  New  York,  and  Philadelphia,  for 
four  first-class  life-boats,  a  life-car,  mortar,  coils  of  rope, 
etc.,  all  of  which  were  sent  at  once  to  Sable  Island,  and 
were  the  means  of  saving  many  lives.  She  sent  also  a 
library  of  several  hundred  volumes,  contributed  by  Boston 
friends  and  booksellers,  to  constitute  a  Mariners’  Library 
for  Sable  Island.  To  the  end  of  her  life  she  helped  to 


258 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


establish  libraries  in  the  life-saving  stations  all  along  the 
coasts  of  the  United  States.  How  barren  seems  a  life 
given  to  selfishness  or  idleness,  when  compared  with  that 
of  Dorothea  Dix  ! 

As  early  as  1848  she  had  endeavored  to  obtain  from 
Congress  a  grant  of  five  million  acres  of  land,  the  proceeds 
of  the  sale  to  be  a  perpetual  fund  for  the  care  of  the  indi¬ 
gent  insane,  to  be  divided  among  the  States  according  to 
population.  Congress  had  given  millions  of  acres  for  edu¬ 
cation  and  internal  improvements,  and  now  she  asked  five 
millions  for  those,  she  said,  “  who,  through  the  providence 
of  God,  are  wards  of  the  nation ,  claimants  on  the  sym¬ 
pathy  and  care  of  the  public,  through  the  miseries  and 
disqualifications  brought  upon  them  by  the  sorest  afflictions 
with  which  humanity  can  be  visited.” 

In  her  memorial  to  Congress  she  said,  “  I  have  myself 
seen  more  than  nine  thousand  idiots ,  epileptics ,  and  insane 
in  these  UnPed  States,  destitute  of  appropriate  care  and 
protection .” 

By  the  courtesy  of  Congress,  an  alcove  in  the  Capitol 
Library  was  set  apart  for  Miss  Dix,  where  she  could  con¬ 
verse  with  the  members.  The  bill  was  deferred  that 
session,  from  press  of  other  matters. 

In  1850  she  appealed  again  to  Congress,  this  time  for 
12,225,000  acres,  ten  millions  of  which  should  be  used  for 
the  benefit  of  the  insane,  and  the  rest  for  the  blind,  and 
deaf,  and  dumb. 

She  went  to  the  Capitol  Library  and  worked  daily  as 
before.  She  rose  at  four  or  five  in  the  morning,  spent  an 
hour  in  private  devotions,  to  strengthen  her  for  her  work, 
wrote  letters  on  her  varied  work  all  over  the  country,  and 
at  ten  o’clock  was  ready  to  meet  and  talk  with  the  mem¬ 
bers  about  her  beloved  project.  The  bill  was  again  de- 


DOROTHEA  LYNDE  DIX. 


259 


ferred,  after  passing  in  the  House,  and  1851  saw  her  a 
third  time  at  her  post  of  duty,  working  and  waiting. 

This  year  it  passed  in  the  Senate,  but  was  deferred 
before  the  House.  Two  years  later,  in  1854,  she  saw  her 
12,225,000  acre  bill  carried  triumphantly  through  the 
House  and  the  Senate,  both  Democratic.  She  was,  of 
course,  enthusiastic  and  thankful. 

The  Democratic  President,  Franklin  Pierce,  had  assured 
her  personally  of  his  deep  interest  in  the  measure.  Here¬ 
after  the  work  would  Vie  easy,  for  every  State  could  now 
care  properly  for  its  helpless  ones. 

To  the  astonishment  of  Miss  Dix,  as  well  as  of  all  her 
co-workers  all  over  the  country,  the  President  vetoed  the 
bill!  declaring  that  he  did  so  from  Constitutional  reasons, 
as  also  from  expediency.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Miss 
Dix  was  prostrated  by  the  unexpected  disappointment, 
after  six  years  of  labor,  since  1848.  It  seemed  necessary 
for  her  to  go  abroad  if  her  life  was  to  be  prolonged. 

She  sailed  in  September,  1854,  in  the  “Arctic,”  which, 
on  the  return  trip,  went  down  with  all  on  board.  Mr.  FI. 
Iv.  Collins,  the  chief  owner  of  the  line,  declined  any  pas¬ 
sage  money  from  Miss  Dix,  saying,  with  emotion,  when 
she  thanked  him,  “The  nation,  madam,  owes  you  a  debt 
of  gratitude  which  it  can  never  repay,  and  of  which  I,  as 
an  individual,  am  only  too  happy  to  be  thus  privileged  to 
mark  my  sense.” 

She  rested  for  some  weeks  with  her  friends,  the  Rath- 
bones,  in  Liverpool,  and  then  started  for  Scotland,  to  look 
into  the  asylums  and  hospitals  of  that  country. 

She  found  what  Lord  Shaftesbury  had  found,  no  pro¬ 
vision  for  pauper  lunatics.  Y\  hen  this  matter  was  brought 
before  the  country,  petitions  poured  in  against  taxing  the 
land  for  the  insane  poor.  If  rich,  they  were  cared  for  in 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


2fi0 

private  hospitals  ;  if  poor  !  they  languished  in  almshouses, 
prisons,  or  police  stations. 

Miss  Dix,  ill  though  she  was,  went  about  the  work  in 
earnest.  She  visited  the  workhouses  and  private  dwellings 
where  the  idiots  and  lunatics  were  stowed  away,  and,  find¬ 
ing  many  abuses  to  be  corrected,  she  determined  to  ask 
the  Home  Secretary,  Sir  George  Grey,  in  London,  for  a 
Committee  of  Investigation. 

The  Lord  Provost  of  Edinburgh,  learning  of  her  deter¬ 
mination  and  opposing  it,  also  hastened  to  London,  hoping 
to  meet  the  Home  Secretary  before  she  did.  “The  Lord 
Provost  stopped  to  have  his  trunk  packed,”  says  Mr. 
Tiffany,  “  and  to  journey  comfortably  by  day.  Miss  Dix 
grasped  a  hand-bag  and  boarded  the  night  train.” 

She  was  twelve  hours  ahead  of  the  Lord  Provost,  met 
the  Home  Secretary  by  the  aid  of  the  noble  Shaftesbury, 
the  commission  was  appointed,  and  the  report  was  made 
to  Parliament  in  1857. 

Of  course  the  country  was  shocked.  The  member  for 
Aberdeen  characterized  the  report  of  the  commissioners 
as  “one  of  the  most  horrifying  documents  he  had  ever 
seen.  It  was  a  state  of  things  which  they  could  not  be¬ 
fore  have  believed  to  prevail  in  any  civilized  country, 
much  less  in  this  country,  which  made  peculiar  claims  to 
civilization,  and  boasted  of  its  religious  and  humane  prin¬ 
ciples.  .  .  .  Distressing  as  were  the  cases  which  he  had 
mentioned,  there  were  others  ten  times  worse,  remaining 
behind  —  so  horrible,  indeed,  that  he  durst  not  venture  to 
shock  the  feelings  of  the  House  by  relating  them.” 

Sir  George  Grey  deplored,  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
that  the  bringing  about  of  this  needed  reform  should  have 
been  left  to  a  “  foreigner,  and  that  foreigner  a  woman, 
and  that  woman  a  dissenter.” 


DOROTHEA  LYNDE  DIX. 


261 


Lunacy  Laws  were  passed  in  1857,  and  Sir  James  A. 
Clark,  Physician  to  the  Queen,  wrote  Miss  Dix,  four  years 
afterwards,  concerning  “  the  improvement  which  has  been 
effected  in  Scotland  through  your  exertions.  The  treat¬ 
ment  of  the  pauper  insane  in  Scotland  is  now  more  care¬ 
fully  attended  to  than  in  any  other  part  of  Great  Britain.” 

After  some  noble  work  in  the  Channel  Islands,  Miss 
Dix  went  with  the  Rathbones  to  Switzerland,  the  remem¬ 
brance  of  which  was  always  a  delight.  When  worn  with 
her  great  cares  in  our  Civil  War,  she  wrote,  “  I  never  find 
the  glorious  views  of  the  Alps  fade  from  my  mind’s  eye. 
A  thousand  incidents  recall  aud  repeat  the  memory  of 
those  grand  snow  peaks  piercing  the  skies.” 

On  the  return  of  the  Rathbones  to  England,  Miss  Dix 
went  to  France  and  other  countries  in  her  earnest  work. 
At  Rouen  she  visited  hospitals  for  aged  men  and  women  ; 
at  Paris  she  had  a  special  permit  to  visit  all  the  pris¬ 
ons  and  hospitals,  without  exception;  in  Genoa,  Turin, 
Naples,  Florence,  and  Rome,  she  gave  no  time  to  art,  but 
all  her  time  to  the  suffering.  Pope  Pius  IX.  granted  her 
audience,  and  at  her  request,  drove  unannounced  to  the 
insane  asylum,  and  made  a  personal  inspection.  Cardinal 
Antonelli  entered  heartily  into  her  plans. 

From  the  Island  of  Corfu  she  wrote  to  a  friend  :  “  You 
will  not  be  more  surprised  than  I  am  that  I  find  travelling 
alone  perfectly  easy.  I  get  into  all  the  hospitals  and  all 
the  prisons  I  have  time  to  see  or  strength  to  explore.  I 
take  no  refusals,  and  yet  I  speak  neither  Italian,  German, 
Greek,  or  Sclavonic.” 

In  Greece  and  Turkey  it  was  always  the  same  kind  re¬ 
ception,  the  same  God-speed  to  a  noble  woman  who  was 
living  to  benefit  the  world. 

Dr.  Cyrus  Hamlin,  then  President  of  Robert  College, 


262 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Constantinople,  wrote  Mr.  Tiffany,  that  “  Miss  Dix  made 
the  impression  at  Constantinople  of  a  person  of  culture, 
judgment,  self-possession,  absolute  fearlessness  in  the 
path  of  duty,  and  yet  a  woman  of  refinement  and  true 
Christian  philanthropy.  I  remember  her  with  the  pro- 
foundest  respect  and  admiration.” 

From  Constantinople  she  went  to  Russia,  Sweden,  Nor¬ 
way,  Denmark,  Holland,  Belgium,  and  Germany,  always 
on  the  one  errand  of  mercy.  She  returned  to  America  in 
September,  1856,  after  an  absence  of  two  years,  and 
resumed  the  work  of  caring  for  her  various  institutions, 
as  though  she  had  been  away  from  school  for  a  brief  vaca¬ 
tion.  She  raised  money  for  her  work,  asking  in  the  various 
States  for  more  than  a  third  of  a  million  dollars  !  She 
was  glad  of  the  work  to  do,  otherwise,  she  said,  in  1861, 
“  the  state  of  our  beloved  country  would  crush  my  heart 
and  life.” 

When  Abraham  Lincoln  was  elected,  Miss  Dix,  having 
been  much  at  the  South,  felt  that  war  would  be  the  inevi¬ 
table  result.  She  sought  an  interview  with  Mr.  Samuel  M. 
Felton,  the  president  of  the  Philadelphia  and  Baltimore 
Railroad,  and  so  impressed  upon  him  the  certainty  that 
Mr.  Lincoln  would  be  assassinated  on  his  way  to  the  inau¬ 
guration  at  Washington  (unless  the  Confederates  could,  in 
the  meantime,  capture  Washington,  and  make  it  the  capi¬ 
tal  of  the  Confederacy,  thus  preventing  the  inauguration), 
that  President  Felton  arranged  for  Lincoln  to  be  conducted 
thither,  privately,  by  night. 

Mr.  Tiffany  justly  thinks  it  remarkable  that  “  the  keen 
insight  and  military  decision  of  mind  of  a  woman  should 
have  lighted  on  the  precise  point  where  the  greatest  peril 
to  the  nation  lay,”  and  thus  have  preserved  Lincoln,  and, 
perhaps,  Washington  itself,  to  the  country. 


DOROTHEA  LYXDE  BIX. 


263 

The  Civil  War  came  with  that  first  gun  fired  by  the  Con¬ 
federates,  at  Fort  Sumter,  at  daybreak,  April  12,  1861. 
Three  days  later,  President  Lincoln  called  for  seventy-five 
thousand  volunteers,  for  three  months’  service.  Among 
the  first  to  respond  was  the  Sixth  Massachusetts  Regi¬ 
ment,  some  of  them  lads  under  twenty,  —  the  first  full 
regiment  to  enter  the  war. 

Mrs.  Mary  A.  Livermore,  in  her  thrilling  book,  “My 
Story  of  the  War,”  thus  describes  the  departure  of  the 
troops  from  the  Boston  and  Albany  Station:  “With  the 
arrival  of  the  uniformed  troops,  the  excitement  burst  out 
into  a  frenzy  of  shouts,  cheers,  and  ringing  acclamations. 
Tears  ran  down  not  only  the  cheeks  of  the  women,  but 
those  of  the  men  ;  but  there  was  no  faltering.  A  clergy¬ 
man  mounted  an  extemporized  platform,  to  offer  prayer, 
where  he  could  be  seen  and  heard  by  all,  and  a  solemn 
hush  fell  on  the  excited  multitude  as  if  we  were  inside  a 
church.  His  voice  rang  out  to  the  remotest  auditor.  The 
long  train  backed  down  where  the  soldiers  were  scattered 
among  mothers,  wives,  sweethearts,  and  friends,  uttering 
last  words  of  farewell. 

“  ‘  Fall  into  line  !  ’  was  the  unfamiliar  order  that  rang 
out,  clear  and  distinct,  with  a  tone  of  authority.  The 
blue-coated  soldiers  released  themselves  tenderly  from  the 
clinging  arms  of  affection,  kissed  again  and  again  and 
again  the  faces  upturned  to  theirs,  white  with  the  agony 
of  parting,  formed  in  long  lines,  company  by  company,  and 
were  marched  into  the  cars.” 

A  woman  had  fainted  in  the  crowd,  and  after  she  was 
restored  to  consciousness  Mrs.  Livermore  turned  to  speak 
to  her.  The  poor  mother  apologized  for  her  weakness ; 
and  a  bystander  said  that  Andrew,  who  had  just  enlisted, 
was  her  only  remaining  son,  as  Clement,  the  other  one, 


264 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


had  been  drowned,  the  week  before,  in  the  Bay  of  San 
Francisco. 

Mrs.  Livermore  tried  to  comfort  her  by  saying,  that 
“  he  had  only  gone  for  three  months.”  “  If  the  country 
needs  my  boy  for  three  months,  or  three  yeai’s,  I  am  not 
the  woman  to  hinder  him,”  was  the  reply  of  the  noble 
mother.  “  He ’s  all  I ’ve  got,  now  that  Clement  is  drowned  ; 
but  when  he  told  me  he ’d  enlisted,  I  gave  him  my  bless¬ 
ing,  and  told  him  to  go ;  for,  if  we  lose  our  country,  what 
is  there  to  live  for  ?  ” 

The  Sixth  Regiment,  in  passing  through  Baltimore,  on 
its  way  to  Washington,  was  stoned  and  insulted  by  a  vast 
mob,  and  several  were  killed.  These  were  the  first  pre¬ 
cious  lives  given  for  the  preservation  of  the  Union,  April 
19,  on  the  anniversary  of  the  battles  of  Lexington  and 
Concord. 

Only  three  hours  after  this  bloodshed  in  Baltimore,  Miss 
Dix  reached  that  city,  and,  with  difficulty,  took  the  last 
train  which  was  permitted  to  leave  for  Washington.  Again 
the  work  was  ready  for  her,  and  she  was  ready  for  the 
work.  At  once  she  reported  herself,  with  some  nurses,  at 
the  War  Department  for  free  service  in  the  hospitals.  She 
was  immediately  appointed  by  Simon  Cameron,  Secretary 
of  War,  “  Superintendent  of  Women  Nurses,  to  select  and 
assign  women  nurses  to  general  or  permanent  military 
hospitals,  they  not  to  be  employed  in  such  hospitals  without 
her  sanction  and  approval,  except  in  cases  of  urgent 
need.” 

She  had  entered  upon  a  work,  Herculean  in  its  propor¬ 
tions.  She  had  thousands  of  women  to  superintend,  the 
generous  gifts  of  a  great  nation  to  help  distribute,  the 
sick  and  dying  to  befriend,  and  many  factious  to  con¬ 
ciliate.  What  wonder  that  the  frail  woman  of  sixty  did 


DOROTHEA  LYE  DR  DIX. 


265 


not  always  agree  with  the  surgeons  !  What  wonder  if 
she  sometimes  seemed  arbitrary  and  severe  ! 

“  Her  whole  soul  was  in  her  work,”  says  Mrs.  Liver¬ 
more.  “  She  rented  two  large  houses  as  depots  for  the 
sanitary  supplies  sent  to  her  care,  and  houses  of  rest  and 
refreshment  for  nurses  and  convalescent  soldiers.  She 
employed  two  secretaries,  owned  ambulances,  and  kept 
them  busily  employed,  printed  and  distributed  circulars, 
went  hither  and  thither  from  one  remote  point  to  another 
in  her  visitations  of  hospitals,  adjusted  disputes,  settled 
difficulties  where  her  nurses  were  concerned,  undertook 
long  journeys  by  land  and  by  water,  and  paid  all  ex¬ 
penses  incurred  from  her  private  purse.  Her  fortune, 
time,  and  strength  were  laid  on  the  altar  of  her  country 
in  its  hour  of  trial.” 

Benson  ,T.  Lossing,  in  his  “  Pictorial  Field  Book  of  the 
Civil  War,”  gives  Miss  Dix  the  same  well-deserved  praise  : 
“  She  went  from  battle-field  to  battle-field,  when  the  car¬ 
nage  was  over ;  from  camp  to  camp,  and  from  hospital  to 
hospital,  superintending  the  operations  of  the  nurses,  and 
administering,  with  her  own  hands,  physical  comforts  to 
the  suffering,  and  soothing  the  troubled  spirits  of  the 
invalid  or  dying  soldiers  with  a  low  voice,  musical  and 
attractive,  and  always  burdened  with  words  of  heartfelt 
sympathy  and  religious  consolation. 

“  The  amount  of  happiness  that  resulted  from  the  ser¬ 
vices  of  this  woman  of  delicate  frame,  which  seemed  to 
be  incapable  of  enduring  the  physical  labor  required  of 
it,  can  never  be  estimated.  The  true  record  is  only  in  the 
great  Book  of  Remembrance.” 

During  the  long  four  years  of  the  war  she  never  took  a 
day’s  vacation.  She  had  to  be  reminded  often  to  take 
her  meals,  so  completely  was  her  mind  absorbed  by  her 


260 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


work.  What  a  pity  that  she  did  not  keep  a  record  of 
some  of  the  heroic  and  pathetic  incidents  of  which  these 
days  were  full,  as  she  ministered  to  the  soldiers,  —  inci¬ 
dents  that  are  the  only  bright  gleams  amid  all  the  dark 
shadows  of  war  ! 

Mrs.  Mary  V.  E.  Thomas,  one  of  the  nurses  in  the  war, 
gives  this  illustration  of  the  supervision  of  Miss  Dix,  and 
its  practical  results,  in  “  Belford’s  Magazine”  for  Janu¬ 
ary,  1892  :  “  One  evening,  as  I  was  leaving  the  hospital, 
a  note  was  handed  me  from  Miss  Dix  ;  it  read,  ‘  I  must 
see  you  as  soon  as  possible.’  I  went  direct  to  the  office. 
As  usual,  she  came  at  once  to  the  point. 

“  ‘  I  want  you  to  visit  the  hospital  across  the  river,  in 
Virginia.’ 

“  ‘  What  for?  ’ 

“  ‘  Don’t  mention  my  name.  Can  you  go  to-morrow?’ 

“  ‘  Yes  ;  but  I  should  like  to  know  for  what  purpose  I 
am  going.’ 

“  ‘  I  want  to  know  how  the  hospital  is  coming  on.’  ” 

The  lady  went,  at  the  request  of  Miss  Dix,  and  found 
at  the  entrance  of  the  hospital  “a  highly  dressed  and 
highly  rouged  young  woman,  with  a  paper-covered  novel 
in  her  hand.  —  French,  I  saw  at  once.  To  my  question, 
‘  Can  1  see  the  hospital?  ’  she  replied,  in  a  saucy  tone,  ‘  Go 
in  there,’  pointing  to  the  door;  ‘  you  ’ll  find  somebody.’ 
She  proceeded  on  her  way  to  join  the  officer  of  the  day, 
who  was  awaiting  her ;  this  my  backward  glance  revealed 
to  me.” 

Airs.  Thomas  passed  about  the  hospital,  observing  that 
the  nurses  exchanged  glances  and  acted  as  if  they  would 
like  to  make  some  communications  to  her,  but  scarcely 
dared.  Finally  she  entered  the  room  of  a  delicate-look¬ 
ing  girl,  who  told  her  the  real  condition  of  things.  The 


DOROTHEA  LYVDE  DIX. 


267 


surgeon  in  charge  had  brought  some  disreputable  persons 
from  New  York,  who  sat  at  the  officers’  table,  and  ate 
and  drank  what  was  provided  for  the  wounded  soldiers, 
giving  the  nurses  dry  bread  and  weak  coffee. 

For  months  they  had  tried  to  get  a  message  to  Miss 
Dix,  and  finally,  when  a  new  milkman  came,  who  was  not 
yet  in  the  confidence  of  the  officials,  he  was  given  a  dollar 
for  getting  a  note  to  Miss  Dix.  Hence  the  unlooked-for 
visit  by  Mrs.  Thomas. 

When  she  returned,  Miss  Dix  asked  anxiously,  “  '  What 
have  you  to  report  ?  ’ 

“‘I  went  through  the  hospital ;  patients  seem  to  be 
doing  pretty  well.’ 

“  ‘  Nothing  more?’  she  questioned,  as  her  countenance 
fell. 

“  ‘  Yes  ;  a  painted  woman,  reading  a  French  novel.’ 

“  ‘  Ah  !  What  else  ?  ’ 

“Then  I  opened  my  budget  and  told  her  all.  Her  face 
flushed,  she  clasped  her  hands  nervously,  as  she  said, 
‘  That  must  be  stopped.’ 

“  And  it  was  stopped.  Within  ten  days  that  hospital 
was  broken  up,  the  patients  were  removed  to  Washington, 
and  a  certain  surgeon  was  dismissed  from  the  army.” 

On  another  occasion,  Mrs.  Thomas  received  a  slip  of 
paper  which  read,  “Come  immediately  to  my  office.  D.  D.” 

“  The  ambulance  soon  brought  me  to  Miss  Dix’s  office. 
The  windows  were  filled  with  plants,  many  of  them  in 
bloom,  giving  the  room  a  cheerful  aspect,  while  the  floors 
and  the  corners  of  the  room  were  piled  up  with  all  sorts 
of  hospital  stores,  bandages,  wearing  apparel  for  the 
invalid  soldiers,  bedding,  etc.  Several  nurses  were 
receiving  directions.  I  sat  down  on  a  box  to  await  my 
turn.  In  a  few  moments  we  were  alone.  Miss  Dix 


268 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


addressed  me  excitedly.  ‘  You  must  go  at  once  to 
Armory  Square  Hospital ;  the  wounded  are  being  taken 
there  by  the  hundreds.  You  will  find  enough  to  do.’ 

“  With  nervous  haste  she  filled  a  basket  with  such  arti¬ 
cles  as  would  be  needed.  She  looked  tired  and  worn,  and 
was  evidently  kept  up  by  excitement  which  could  only 
find  relief  in  action.  All  the  previous  night  she  and  the 
other  ladies  had  been  at  the  steamboat  wharf,  ministering 
to  the  wounded  as  they  arrived. 

“The  hospital  grounds  were  crowded  with  the  wounded 
and  the  dying,  on  stretchers.  Stepping  over  several  I 
made  my  way  to  a  tent  already  filled  to  its  utmost  capac¬ 
ity.  Before  I  could  lay  aside  my  bonnet  and  gloves  a 
pleading  voice  said,  4  Do,  please,  ma’am,  look  at  this  leg.’ 

“  There  lay  a  man  of  powerful  frame  and  fine,  open 
countenance.  I  removed  the  soiled  bandage,  taking  care 
to  notice  the  way  it  was  put  on,  as  it  must  be  replaced.” 

“  I  am  afraid  I  won’t  be  able  to  put  it  on  like  this,” 
said  Mrs.  Thomas  ;  “  of  course,  the  doctor  dressed  it?  ” 

“Oh,  no,  ma’am;  it  was  one  of  them  ladies  at  the 
front ;  she  was  better  than  any  doctor.” 

Thus  did  Miss  Dix  and  her  noble  helpers  work  for  the 
soldiers. 

Mrs.  Annie  Wittenmeyer,  whose  work  was  most  valuable 
during  the  war,  and  who,  since  the  war,  has  been  a  leader 
in  the  National  Woman’s  Relief  Corps,  writes  me,  con¬ 
cerning  Miss  Dix  :  “  She  was  tall  and  stately  in  person 
and  manners.  She  was  reserved  and  imperious  in  con¬ 
versation, —  on  the  verge  of  haughtiness.  She  was  fine- 
looking,  and  had  certainly  in  early  life  been  handsome. 
At  sixty  there  were  no  wrinkles  in  her  face,  or  gray 
threads  in  her  hair.  She  was  neat  and  always  suitably 
dressed,  but  very  plainly. 


DOROTHEA  LYNDE  DIX. 


269 


“  She  was  a  woman  of  fine  mind,  which  was  enriched 
by  culture  and  much  travel.  When  one  could  get  her  to 
talk  she  was  very  entertaining,  otherwise  she  seemed  cold 
and  unsocial.  ... 

“The  people  had  confidence  in  her  integrity,  and  she 
received  heavy  lots  of  supplies  from  this  country  and  Eng¬ 
land.  She  worked  hard  and  loyally,  and  was  true  and 
honest.” 

When  the  war  was  over,  the  Hon.  Edwin  M.  Stanton, 
who  had  then  become  Secretary  of  War,  asked  her  how  the 
nation  could  best  show  her  its  appreciation  of  her  invalu¬ 
able  services, —  either  by  a  great  public  meeting  or  a  vote 
of  money  by  Congress.  She  declined  both  absolutely,  but 
said,  “  I  would  like  the  flags  of  my  country.” 

A  beautiful  pair  of  flags  were  made  for  her  by  the  direc¬ 
tion  of  the  Government,  and  sent  to  her,  “  In  token  and 
acknowledgment  of  the  inestimable  services  rendered  by 
Miss  Dorothea  L.  Dix  for  the  Care,  Succor  and  Relief  of 
the  Sick  and  Wounded  Soldiers  of  the  United  States  on 
the  Battle-field,  in  Camps  and  Hospitals,  during  the  recent 
war,  and  of  her  benevolent  and  diligent  labors  and 
devoted  efforts  to  whatever  might  contribute  to  their 
comfort  and  welfare.” 

These  national  colors  were  bequeathed  by  Miss  Dix  to 
Harvard  College,  and  are  now  suspended  over  the  main 
portal  of  Memorial  Hall,  dedicated  to  the  Sons  of  Har¬ 
vard  who  gave  their  lives  for  their  country.  These  flags 
represent  to  Harvard  College  the  work  of  a  noble  woman, 
whose  memory  the  students  of  that  institution  should 
never  forget  to  honor. 

At  the  close  of  the  war,  for  eighteen  months  Miss  Dix 
carried  on  a  very  large  correspondence  with  the  families 
of  the  soldiers  who  had  died  or  become  invalids  under  her 


270 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


charge,  and  obtained  pensions  for  them,  or  assisted  in 
various  ways.  She  became  responsible  for  the  erection 
of  the  monument  at  the  National  Cemetery  at  Hampton, 
Va.,  near  Fortress  Monroe,  where  twelve  thousand  Union 
soldiers  are  buried. 

“  I  had  especial  direction  over  most  of  these,  martyred 
to  a  sacred  cause,”  Miss  Dix  wrote  a  friend ;  “  and  never 
forget  the  countless  last  messages  of  hundreds  of  dying 
men  to  fathers,  mothers,  wives,  and  children ;  never  for¬ 
get  the  calm,  manly  fortitude  which  sustained  them  through 
the  anguish  of  mortal  wounds  and  the  agonies  of  dissolu¬ 
tion.  Nothing,  in  a  review  of  the  past  four  years’  war, 
so  astonishes  me  as  the  uniformly  calm  and  firm  bearing 
of  these  soldiers  of  a  good  cause,  dying  without  a  mur¬ 
mur  as  they  had  suffered  without  a  complaint.” 

She  raised  eight  thousand  dollars  among  her  friends, 
visited  the  quarries  of  Maine  and  selected  the  granite, 
and  wrote  General  Grant  for  “  one  thousand  muskets  and 
bayonets,  fifteen  rifled  guns,  and  a  quantity  of  twenty- 
four-pound  shot,”  for  a  fence,  which  he  at  once  granted. 

The  monument  is  seventy-five  feet  high,  on  a  base 
twenty-seven  feet  square,  inclosed  by  a  circular  fence, 
with  the  muskets  and  cannon  set  in  blocks  of  stone.  On 
it  are  the  words,  “  In  Memory  of  Union  Soldiers  who 
Died  to  maintain  the  Laws.” 

At  sixty-five  she  took  up  again  her  work  for  the  insane. 
For  fifteen  years,  gently  but  efficiently  she  did  her  mani¬ 
fold  work  for  humanity. 

At  eighty,  a  home  having  been  urgently  tendered  her 
at  the  asylum  in  Trenton,  N.  J.,  the  first  one  which  she 
had  caused  to  be  built  in  America,  she  accepted  the  offer, 
and  there  ended  her  days.  She  had  reared  homes  for 
others,  but  had  none  for  herself.  Her  marriage  in  early 


D  OB  0  THE A  LYNDE  DIX. 


271 


life  was  prevented,  it  is  said,  by  the  breaking  of  an 
engagement  with  her  cousin. 

For  six  years  she  lived  at  the  asylum,  an  honored  guest, 
a  great  sufferer,  but  she  said  that  “  it  was  all  right  it 
should  be  so,  it  was  God’s  will ;  only  it  was  hard  to 
bear.” 

Dr.  John  W.  Ward,  at  the  head  of  the  State  Lunatic 
Asylum,  of  Trenton,  writes  me  :  “I  saw  her  daily  during 
her  stay  with  us,  and  can  assure  you  that  her  marvellous 
mind  and  memory  remained  intact  until  almost  the  hour 
of  dissolution.  Her  descriptive  powers  were  something 
phenomenal.  I  have  never  met  her  equal  in  man  or 
woman.  .  .  .  Miss  Dix  was  an  indefatigable  worker. 
She  allowed  scarcely  any  obstacle  to  thwart  her  in  her 
work.  Her  indomitable  will  seemed  capable  of  overcoming 
everything  ;  yet  she  told  me,  a  short  time  before  her  death, 
that  she  never  planned  anything  by  herself.  She  always 
felt  fully  assured  that  God  directed  her  from  day  to  day 
what  she  should  do,  and  it  was  this  feeling  on  her  part, 
probably,  that  during  her  long  life  prevented  her  from 
working  with  others.  She  worked  through  others,  but 
never  with  them.  She  was  always  a  deeply  devout  woman  ; 
a  Unitarian  in  religious  belief,  but  with  a  sacred  reverence 
for  Bethlehem,  Gethsemane,  and  Calvary.” 

Precious  letters  came  to  Miss  Dix  in  the  asylum  from 
all  over  the  country.  Whittier  wrote  from  Oak  Knoll, 
Danvers  :  “  Thou  hast  done  so  much  for  others,  that  it  is 
right  for  thee  now,  in  age  and  illness,  to  be  kindly  min¬ 
istered  to.  He  who  has  led  thee  in  thy  great  work  of 
benevolence  will  never  leave  thee  nor  forsake  thee.” 

Gen.  S.  C.  Armstrong  wrote  her  :  “  You  are  one  of  my 
heroes.  My  ideal  is  not  one  who  gives  the  flush  and 
strength  of  youth  to  good  work,  —  for  who  can  help 


27  2 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


doing  so  when  a  chance  opens  ?  .  .  .  But  j’ou  kept  in  the 
field  long  past  your  best  days.  Your  grit  and  resolve 
have  been  wonderful.” 

She  died  on  the  evening  of  July  17,  1887,  at  the  age  of 
eighty-five,  and  was  buried  in  Mount  Auburn  Cemetery, 
near  Boston,  a  place  dear  to  all  Americans,  on  account  of 
the  graves  of  Lowell,  Longfellow,  Margaret  Fuller,  and 
others  who  have  been  an  honor  and  a  blessing  to  their 
country. 


DOROTHEA  LYNDE  DIX, 


ANN  H.  JUDSON, 


ANN,  SARAH,  AND  EMILY  JUDSON. 


N  the  south  side  of  "Washington  Square,  New  York 


City,  is  a  beautiful  Memorial  Baptist  Church,  that 
should  be  visited  by  every  one  who  is  interested  in  helping 
humanity. 

It  is  a  church  whose  building  and  methods  people  will 
copy  in  the  years  to  come.  Besides  the  Sunday  services, 
it  is  used  every  day  in  the  week  for  noble  purposes.  “  If 
a  business  firm  should  erect  an  expensive  building,  and 
use  it  only  during  six  or  seven  hours  a  week,  could  it 
expect  to  succeed?”  says  the  Rev.  Dr.  Edward  Judson, 
the  pastor  of  this  church. 

“  And  yet  all  over  Manhattan  Island  we  have  vast  en- 
Closed  spaces,  which  are  actually  in  use  for  only  a  few 
hours  each  week.  The  rest  of  the  time  they  serve  only 
to  circumscribe  the  cheerful  habitations  of  men,  and  are 
occupied  by  mice,  and  silence,  and  gloom.” 

The  Main  Auditory,  for  worship,  seats  twelve  hundred 
persons ;  the  Memorial  Hall,  for  Sunday-school  use,  lec¬ 
tures,  and  other  entertainments,  seven  hundred  persons ; 
the  School-house,  with  three  light,  cheerful  rooms,  is  used 
for  kindergarten,  sewing-schools  and  primary  work,  both 
secular  and  religious ;  the  Young  Men’s  Headquarters, 
with  social  room,  library,  and  reading-room,  and  gym¬ 
nasium,  is  open  every  night;  the  “  Deats  Memorial  Home 
for  Children,”  at  the  base  of  the  tower,  with  beds  for 


274 


FA  MO  US  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


fifty  children,  provides  shelter,  food,  clothes,  school,  and 
church.  The  expense  of  all  this  is  borne  in  part  by  an 
adjoining  apartment  and  boarding-house  with  seven  floors, 
called  “  The  Judson,”  which  already  yields  a  net  revenue 
of  S10,000  a  year.  The  current  expenses  of  the  church 
proper  are  met  by  voluntary  offerings,  all  the  seats  being 
free ,  and  the  “  whole  church  open  all  day  for  any  one  to 
come  in  and  rest  a  while,”  says  its  devoted  and  eloquent 
pastor.  On  Sunday  evenings  the  sermon  is  followed  by  a 
Song  Service,  the  congregational  singing  being  led  by  a 
choir  of  fifty  voices,  accompanied  by  organ,  piano,  violins, 
and  flutes. 

Besides  all  the  spiritual  activities  of  the  church,  there 
is  an  industrial  school  for  girls,  a  dress-making  establish¬ 
ment  for  learners,  a  flower  mission,  a  free  ice-water  foun¬ 
tain,  fresh-air  work  during  the  summer,  a  penny  provident 
fund,  and  other  departments. 

Dr.  Judson  has  raised  by  personal  effort  over  $200,000 
of  the  money  needed  for  these  buildings  in  the  heart  of 
the  great  city.  He  is  the  son  of  the  second  Mrs.  Jud¬ 
son,  —  Sarah  Boardman,  —  and  is  an  honor  to  the  name  of 
his  beautiful  and  consecrated  mother.  Preaching  in  a 
cultured  and  wealthy  church,  he  gave  up  his  position  to 
do  a  greater  and  more  needed  work  in  the  lower  part  of 
New  York.  A  man  of  unusual  scholarship,  most  suc¬ 
cessful  in  revivals,  he  is  using  his  great  energy  and  zeal 
in  an  imperishable  work.  Some  of  the  largest  churches 
in  the  denomination  have  called  him  to  their  pulpits,  but 
he  prefers  to  give  his  life  to  his  Memorial  Church. 

Of  whom  is  this  grand  church  a  memorial?  Of  Dr. 
Adoniram  Judson,  who  wrought  such  a  work  in  foreign 
lands  as  to  make  his  name  immortal.  He  will  live  in  his¬ 
tory,  forever  associated  with  the  three  women  who  shared 


ANN,  SARAH,  AND  EMILY  JUDSON. 


275 


his  sorrows  and  his  successes,  whom  he  loved  with  a  de¬ 
voted  and  unchanging  affection,  and  who  will  always  be 
an  inspiration  to  the  womanhood  of  America. 

Ann  Hasseltine  Judson  was  born  at  Bradford,  Mass., 
Dec.  22,  1789.  She  was  an  enthusiastic,  ardent  girl,  fond 
of  society,  but  equally  fond  of  books,  of  great  decision 
and  strength  of  mind,  with  indomitable  perseverance. 
So  restless  was  she  as  a  child  that  her  mother  once  said 
to  her,  “  I  hope,  my  daughter,  you  will  one  day  be  sat¬ 
isfied  with  rambling.” 

She  studied  at  the  Academy  at  Bradford,  and  at  the 
age  of  eighteen,  with  characteristic  New  England  energy, 
began  to  teach  school,  that  her  time  might  be  spent  in  a 
useful  manner. 

In  June,  1810,  the  Massachusetts  Association  of  Con¬ 
gregational  Ministers  met  at  Bradford.  It  was  to  inaugu¬ 
rate  a  most  important  work.  Several  young  men  from  the 
quiet  town  of  Andover,  where  they  had  been  attending 
the  Theological  Seminary,  were  at  the  meeting.  Samuel  J. 
Mills,  James  Richards,  Luther  Rice,  and  Gordon  Hall, 
who,  while  in  "Williams  College,  had  prayed  together  at 
night  beside  a  haystack,  and  had  consecrated  themselves 
to  the  work  of  saving  souls  among  the  heathen,  had 
come  to  the  Bradford  gathering. 

Another  young  man  was  present,  slight  in  physique? 
with  brown  hair  and  eyes,  whose  history  already  was  in¬ 
teresting, —  young  Adoniram  Judson.  lie  was  born  in 
Malden,  Mass.,  Aug.  9,  1788,  the  son  of  a  Congrega¬ 
tional  minister  ;  a  precocious  boy,  so  excellent  in  Greek  and 
Latin  that  he  was  called  by  his  schoolmates  “  old  Virgil 
dug  up”;  equally  fond  of  theology  and  of  the  novels  of 
Richardson  and  Fielding ;  valedictorian  of  his  class  at 
Brown  University  when  he  was  nineteen  ;  ambitious,  self- 


276 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


dependent,  publishing  two  text-books  about  the  time  he 
graduated,  one  on  grammar,  the  other  on  arithmetic; 
and  as  restless  by  nature  as  was  Ann  Hasseltine. 

He  had  determined  to  see  the  world  for  himself.  He 
went  from  the  old  town  of  Plymouth,  Mass.,  whither  his 
father  had  moved  some  years  previously,  to  Albany,  N.  Y., 
that  he  might  see  the  newly-invented  steamer  of  Robert 
Fulton.  He  sailed  in  her  to  New  York,  and  then  started 
westward. 

At  a  country  inn  where  he  stopped,  the  landlord  apolo¬ 
gized  for  placing  him  next  to  the  room  of  a  young  man 
who  was  dying.  During  the  night  Judson  was  much  dis¬ 
turbed  by  the  groaning,  and  wondered  whether  the  young 
man  was  ready  to  meet  death.  He  chided  himself  for  such 

pious  thoughts,  for  he  and  his  college  mate,  E - ,  witty 

and  charming,  but  a  confirmed  deist,  had  often  laughed 
about  such  fears  for  the  future. 

In  the  morning  he  inquired  about  the  young  man.  “  He 
is  gone,  poor  fellow  !  ”  said  the  landlord.  11  He  was  a 
very  fine  fellow  ;  iiis  name  was  E - ,  from  Brown  Uni¬ 

versity.” 

Young  Judson  was  stunned.  He  gave  up  his  journey 
to  see  the  world,  ceased  his  unbelief,  entered  Andover 
Theological  Seminary  when  he  was  twenty,  and  became 
thereafter  one  of  the  most  devoted  men  America  has  ever 
known. 

The  following  year,  1800,  Dr.  Claudius  Buchanan’s 
“  Star  in  the  East,”  a  work  showing  the  spread  of  the 
gospel  in  India,  especially  under  the  German  missionary, 
Schwartz,  fell  into  Judson’s  hands.  He  began  to  think 
seriously  of  foreign  missions,  and  the  next  year,  when 
Mills  and  the  others  came  to  Andover,  he  was  ready  for 
the  final  decision  to  preach  to  the  heathen. 


ANN,  SABAH,  AND  EMILY  JUDSON.  277 

It  was  a  bard  matter  for  others  rather  than  for  himself. 
He  had  been  offered  the  position  of  a  tutor  at  Brown 
University,  and  had  declined  it.  Rev.  Dr.  Griffin  had 
suggested  him  for  his  colleague  “  in  the  largest  church 
in  Boston.”  His  glad  mother  had  said,  “  You  will  be  so 
near  home”;  and  he  had  replied,  “  I  shall  never  live  in 
Boston.  I  have  much  farther  than  that  to  go.” 

His  ambitious  father  had  seen  his  plans  for  Adoniram 
thwarted.  “The  son,  also,”  as  says  the  Rev.  Edward 
Judson  in  his  delightful  life  of  his  father,  “  had  nailed  his 
own  ambitions  to  the  cross.” 

As  there  was  no  foreign  missionary  society  in  America, 
the  young  students  from  Andover  proposed  to  each  other 
to  go  under  the  auspices  of  the  London  Missionary  So¬ 
ciety.  But  first,  they  would  attend  the  meeting  at 
Bradford,  and  lay  the  matter  before  the  Congregational 
ministers  of  the  State. 

During  the  sessions,  the  clergymen  dined  with  Deacon 
Hasseltine,  whose  youngest  daughter,  Ann,  waited  on  the 
table.  She  listened  to  the  earnest  conversation,  particu¬ 
larly  that  of  the  fearless  and  dignified  Judson.  He  seem¬ 
ingly  paid  no  attention  to  the  beautiful  brunette,  though 
she  afterwards  learned  that  he  was  composing  some  verses 
to  her  in  his  mind  at  that  very  time. 

The  Bradford  meeting  came  to  an  end,  but  not  until 
that  grand  organization,  the  American  Board  of  Commis¬ 
sioners  for  Foreign  Missions,  had  been  effected,  at  the 
request  of  these  same  young  men.  Judson  wrote  the 
petition  to  the  ministers  and  was  the  first  to  sign  it. 

Fearing  that  money  could  not  then  be  raised  to  support 
the  Andover  students,  young  Judson  was  sent  to  England 
to  confer  with  the  London  Missionary  Society,  as  to  a 
union  of  the  two  nations  in  missionary  effort.  He  was 


278 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


captured  on  the  journey  by  a  French  privateer,  taken  to 
Bayonne,  and  thrown  into  a  damp  and  moldy  prison. 

Fortunately,  an  American  from  Philadelphia  had  heard 
him  speak  as  the  prisoners  passed  along  the  street,  stole 
into  the  prison,  wrapped  his  cloak  around  the  slight, 
boyish  Judsou,  and  together  they  passed  out  in  the  dark¬ 
ness. 

“Now  run!”  said  the  stranger;  and  Judsou  heeded 
the  injunction  with  a  will.  Later,  in  France,  he  was  in¬ 
troduced  to  some  of  the  officers  of  Napoleon’s  suite,  and 
travelled  through  the  country  in  one  of  the  emperor’s 
carriages. 

He  returned  to  America  in  September,  1811,  and  as  the 
London  Society  did  not  deem  it  best  to  unite  with  the 
American,  Judson,  Samuel  Nott,  Samuel  Newell,  and 
Gordon  Hall  were  appointed  to  labor  in  Asia,  under  the 
direction  of  the  American  Board. 

Judson  had  already  told  Ann  Ilasseltine  of  his  love  for 
her,  and  had  written  to  her  father,  asking,  “  Whether  you 
can  consent  to  part  with  your  daughter  early  next  spring, 
to  see  her  no  more  in  this  world  ;  whether  you  can  con¬ 
sent  to  her  departure  for  a  heathen  land,  and  her  subjec¬ 
tion  to  the  hardships  and  sufferings  of  a  missionary  life  ; 
whether  you  can  consent  to  her  exposure  to  the  dangers  of 
the  ocean ;  to  the  fatal  influence  of  the  southern  climate 
of  India  ;  to  every  kind  of  want  and  distress  ;  to  degrada¬ 
tion,  insult,  persecution,  and  perhaps  a  violent  death. 

“  Can  you  consent  to  all  this  for  the  sake  of  Him  who 
left  his  heavenly  home,  and  died  for  her  and  for  you ;  for 
the  sake  of  perishing,  immortal  souls ;  for  the  sake  of 
Zion,  and  the  glory  of  God  ?  ” 

No  woman  had  ever  left  America  to  go  among  the 
heathen.  Many  of  Ann’s  friends  opposed  her  going,  but 


ANN,  SARAH,  AND  EMILY  JUD SON. 


279 


she  had  prayerfully  decided  the  matter  in  the  affirmative, 
and  she  and  Mr.  Judson  were  married  at  Bradford,  Feb. 

5,  1812. 

Judson  and  Samuel  Newell  were  ordained  at  the  Taber¬ 
nacle  Church,  in  Salem,  the  following  day,  and  sailed  from 
that  town  on  the  19th,  with  their  wives,  for  Calcutta. 

That  it  cost  Ann  Hasseltine  a  bitter  struggle,  her  jour¬ 
nal  shows:  “  My  heart  bleeds,”  she  writes.  “  O  Amer¬ 
ica,  my  native  land  !  must  I  leave  thee?  Must  I  leave  my 
parents,  my  sisters  and  brother,  my  friends  beloved,  and 
all  the  scenes  of  my  early  youth?  Must  I  leave  thee, 
Bradford,  my  dear  native  town,  where  I  spent  the  pleasant 
years  of  childhood  ;  where  I  learnt  to  lisp  the  name  of  my 
mother ;  .  .  .  where  I  learnt  the  endearments  of  friend¬ 
ship,  and  tasted  of  all  the  happiness  this  world  can 
afford  ?  ” 

During  the  long  voyage  of  four  months  —  they  reached 
Calcutta  June  18  —  the  young  missionaries  read  works 
bearing  on  their  future  labors — Paley,  and  others  —  and 
Mr.  Judson  read  several  authors  on  baptism.  Since  he 
was  going  where  there  were  some  English  Baptists,  he 
must  needs  be  able  to  show  to  the  natives  why  a  Congre¬ 
gational  form  was  to  be  preferred. 

The  result  was  that  he  came  to  believe  that  the  Bible 
taught  immersion,  when  one  becomes  a  Christian,  rather 
than  in  infancy,  and  there  seemed  to  him  no  alternative 
but  to  unite  with  the  Baptist  Church.  This  cost  him  much 
pain.  lie  could  not  look  to  the  American  Board  for  sup¬ 
port  ;  there  was  no  Baptist  Missionary  Society  to  which  he 
could  turn,  and  it  necessarily  made  him  and  his  compan¬ 
ions  labor  in  separate  fields.  He  was  greatly  blamed  by 
some,  but  in  the  end  good  resulted,  as  the  Baptist  churches 
were  stirred  to  more  earnest  efforts,  and  a  Baptist  Mis- 


280 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


sionary  Union  was  formed,  which  has  done  a  wonderful 
work  in  heathen  lands. 

Judson  and  his  wife  were  at  once  invited  by  Dr.  Carey 
to  the  mission-house  at  Seram  pore.  Here  all  was  strange 
and  interesting  to  the  young  couple.  Ann  wrote  home, 
describing  the  English  Church,  where  “  a  number  of  pun- 
kies,  something  like  a  fan,  several  yards  in  length,  hung 
around,  with  ropes  fastened  to  the  outside,  which  were 
pulled  by  some  of  the  natives,  to  keep  the  church  cool.” 

A  wedding  procession  passed.  “The  bridegroom  was 
carried  in  a  palanquin,  with  flowers  in  his  hands,  and  on 
his  head.  lie  appeared  to  be  about  ten  years  of  age. 
The  procession  were  dressed  in  uniform,  writh  large 
branches  of  flowers,  and  instruments  of  music.” 

The  third  day  after  their  arrival,  the  worship  of  Jugger¬ 
naut  was  celebrated.  “  The  idol  was  set  on  the  top  of  a 
stone  building.  He  is  only  a  lump  of  wood,  his  face 
painted,  with  large  black  eyes,  and  a  large  red  mouth. 
He  was  taken  from  his  temple,  and  water  poured  on  him 
to  bathe  him.  .  .  .  After  they  had  bathed  their  god  they 
proceeded  to  bathe  themselves.” 

The  Indian  Government,  which  at  that  time  meant  the 
East  India  Company,  being  opposed  to  missionaries, 
especially  those  from  America,  as  England  and  America 
were  not  then  friendly,  ordered  the  Judsons  and  others  to 
return  to  their  own  land.  They  begged  to  go’ to  the  Isle' 
of  France  (Mauritius) ,  which  request  was  granted. 

After  a  voyage  of  six  weeks  they  reached  this  island,  in 
the  Indian  Ocean,  four  hundred  and  eighty  miles  east  of 
Madagascar.  They  found  that  the  lovely  Harriet  Newell, 
the  wife  of  Samuel,  who  had  come  thither  two  mouths 
before,  had  already  given  her  young  life,  with  that  of  her 
infant  daughter,  to  the  cause  of  missions.  When  told  that 


ANN,  SARAH,  AND  EMILY  JUDSON. 


281 


death  was  near,  she  lifted  her  hands,  exclaiming,  “  Oh, 
glorious  intelligence  !  ” 

After  four  mouths,  the  .Tudsons  determined  again  to  try 
India,  and  went  to  Madras.  They  intended  to  establish  a 
mission  on  Prince  of  Wales  Island,  in  the  Straits  o-f 
Malacca,  but  as  the  only  vessel  about  to  sail  was  bound 
for  Rangoon,  Burma,  they  took  passage,  and  arrived  in 
July,  1813. 

The  area  of  Burma  at  that  time  was  two  hundred  and 
eighty  thousand  square  miles,  —  four  times  as  large  as  New 
England,  —  with  a  population  of  from  six  to  eight  millions. 
The  people  worshipped  Buddha,  or  Gautama,  born  about 
500  e.  c.,  the  son  of  an  Indian  prince.  lie  left  his  home 
and  his  wealth,  at  twenty-nine,  and  until  his  death,  about 
eighty,  he  travelled  through  India,  preaching  his  gospel. 
His  life  was  spent  in  self-denial  and  charity. 

On  the  arrival  of  the  Judsons  at  Rangoon,  Mrs.  Judson, 
who  was  ill,  was  carried  in  an  arm-chair  on  the  shoulders 
of  the  natives.  When  put  down  to  rest  the  women 
gathered  around  her  and  peered  under  her  bonnet.  When 
she  smiled  at  this  they  laughed  aloud. 

The  Judsons  at  once  began  the  study  of  the  language, 
a  matter  of  great  difficulty,  as  there  was  neither  grammar 
nor  dictionary,  nor  any  English-speaking  teacher.  These 
would  have  been  lonely  days  except  for  the  love  they 
bore  each  other,  and  their  work 

Mrs.  Judson  wrote  to  Mr  Newell:  “We  have  no 
society,  no  dear  Christian  friends,  and  with  the  exception 
of  two  or  three  sea-captains,  who  now  and  then  call  on 
Us,  we  never  see  a  European  face.  But,  then,  we  are  still 
happy  in  each  other ;  still  find  that  our  own  home  is  our 
best,  our  dearest  friend. 

“  When  we  feel  a  disposition  to  sigh  for  the  enjoyments 


282 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


of  our  native  country  we  turn  our  eyes  on  the  miserable 
objects  around.  We  behold  some  of  them  laboring  hard 
for  a  scanty  subsistence,  oppressed  by  an  avaricious  gov¬ 
ernment,  which  is  ever  ready  to  seize  what  industry  has 
hardly  earned.  We  behold  others  sick  and  diseased,  dailj’ 
begging  their  few  grains  of  rice,  which,  when  obtained,  are 
scarcely  sufficient  to  protract  their  wretched  existence,  and 
with  no  other  habitation  to  cover  them  from  the  burning 
sun  or  chilly  rains  than  that  which  a  small  piece  of  cloth 
raised  on  four  bamboos,  under  the  shade  of  a  tree,  can 
afford.” 

At  the  end  of  three  years,  Judson  had  completed  a 
grammar  of  the  Burmese  language,  concerning  which  the 
Calcutta  Review  said,  “We  have  seen  no  work  in  any 
tongue  which  we  should  compare  with  it  for  brevity  and 
completeness.”  He  published  also  his  first  Burmese  tract, 
“  A  View  of  the  Christian  Religion  in  Three  Parts,  His¬ 
toric,  Didactic,  and  Preceptive.” 

One  thousand  of  these  tracts  were  printed  at  first,  and 
three  thousand  copies  of  a  catechism  prepared  by  Mrs. 
Judson.  So  difficult  was  the  acquisition  of  the  language, 
that  Mr.  Judson  said  he  would  rather  submit  to  an  exam¬ 
ination  in  French  after  two  months  of  study  than  in  Bur- 
man  after  two  years.  He  thought  it  the  most  difficult 
language  on  earth,  except  the  Chinese. 

Though  he  had  no  converts  to  baptize  till  he  had  been 
in  Burma  seven  years,  he  was  not  discouraged.  When 
asked  whether  he  thought  the  prospects  bright  for  the 
speedy  conversion  of  the  heathen,  he  would  say,  “  As 
bright  as  the  promises  of  God.” 

He  wrote  to  a  friend  that,  though  Rangoon  was  “  a 
most  filthy,  wretched  place,  if  a  ship  was  lying  in  the 
river,  ready  to  convey  me  to  any  part  of  the  world  I 


vBY.V,  SARAH,  AND  EMIL  Y  JUDSON. 


283 


should  choose,  and  that,  too,  with  the  entire  approbation 
of  all  my  Christian  friends,  I  would  prefer  dying  to  em¬ 
barking.” 

A  child  had  come  to  brighten  the  Judson  home,  a  boy, 
Roger  Williams,  born  Sept.  11,  181.1.  Mrs.  Judson  wrote 
her  mother  that  she  “  now  felt  almost  in  a  new  state  of 
existence,”  and  added,  “  We  hope  his  life  may  be  pre¬ 
served,  and  his  heart  sanctified,  that  he  may  become  a 
missionary  among  the  Burmans 

But  the  hope  was  not  to  be  realized,  for  the  following 
May  she  wrote  home  :  “  Death,  regardless  of  our  lonely 
situation,  has  entered  our  dwelling,  and  made  one  of  the 
happiest  families  wretched.  Our  little  Roger  Williams, 
our  only  little  darling  boy,  was  three  days  ago  laid  in  the 
silent  grave.  Eight  months  we  enjoyed  the  precious  little 
gift,  in  which  time  he  had  so  completely  entwined  himself 
around  his  parents’  hearts  that  his  existence  seemed 
necessary  to  their  own.  .  .  .  We  buried  him  in  the  after¬ 
noon,  in  a  little  enclosure,  the  other  side  of  the  garden. 
.  .  .  We  felt  he  was  our  earthly  all,  our  only  source  of 
recreation  in  this  heathen  land.” 

Mr.  Judson's  heart,  too,  was  equally  torn  by  this  be¬ 
reavement.  lie  wrote  to  a  missionary  friend  at  Seram- 
porc  :  “The  light  of  his  mild  blue  eye  is  quenched,  his 
sweet  face  has  become  cold  to  our  lips,  and  his  little 
mind,  which,  to  a  parent’s  discernment  at  least,  discov¬ 
ered  peculiar  sensibility  and  peculiar  sweetness  of  dis¬ 
position,  has  deserted  its  infantile  tenement  and  fled  — 
oh,  where?  Into  what  .strange  scenes  is  it  introduced? 
Who  supports  and  guides  its  trembling  steps  across  the 
dark  valley?  There  a  parent’s  aid  could  not  be  extended. 
But  we  hope  it  had  a  more  affectionate  and  abler  guide.” 

The  strong  man  tried  to  be  comforted,  and  yet  he  cried 


284 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD 


oi.t  in  agony  of  spirit,  “We  had  only  one.  Might  not 
this  have  been  spared?  ” 

Still  the  childless  parents  labored  on.  In  May,  1817, 
Mr.  Judson  finished  his  translation  of  the  gospel  of  Mat¬ 
thew,  and  he  began  to  compile  a  Burmese  dictionary.  But 
his  health  became  impaired  by  continuous  study,  and  he 
was  obliged  to  take  a  sea  voyage 

He  was  constantly  urging  America  to  send  out  more 
laborers.  The  work  was  too  great,  and  the  hands  of  the 
workers  too  feeble.  “Send  us,”  he  wrote,  “humble, 
quiet,  persevering  men ;  men  of  sound,  sterling  talents, 
of  decent  accomplishments,  of  some  natural  aptitude  to 
acquire  a  language ;  men  of  an  amiable,  yielding  temper, 
willing  to  take  the  lowest  place,  to  be  the  least  of  all,  and 
the  servant  of  all ;  men  who  enjoy  much  closet  religion  — 
who  live  near  to  God,  and  are  willing  to  suffer  all  things 
for  Christ’s  sake,  without  being  proud  of  it; — these  are 
the  men  we  need.” 

In  1819,  a  zayat ,  or  little  chapel,  costing  about  two  hun¬ 
dred  dollars,  was  built  by  Mr.  Judson,  along  the  roadside 
leading  to  one  of  the  pagodas  where  Gautama  was  wor¬ 
shipped.  In  these  pagodas,  which  were  supposed  to  con¬ 
tain  a  relic  of  Buddha,  expensive  offerings  were  made. 
One  offering,  costing  Si, 200,  provided  by  a  member  of 
government  ,  was  a  bamboo  and  paper  pagoda,  ornamented 
with  gold  leaf  and  paintings.  It  was  one  hundred  feet 
high,  with  a  man  half  way  up  the  pagoda,  dancing.  This 
was  borne  by  sixty  men,  preceded  by  a  band  of  music. 

When  these  people  came  to  worship  Gautama,  they 
would  see  “  the  teacher,”  in  his  little  open  chapel,  ready 
to  teach  or  to  preach  in  the  Burmese  language.  So  elo¬ 
quent  and  earnest  was  Mr.  Judson,  that  those  who  could 
not  understand  a  word  of  the  language  were  held  spell- 


ANN,  SARAH,  AND  EMILY  JUDSON. 


285 


bound  by  his  manner.  In  later  years,  he  found  it  difficult 
to  preach  in  his  mother  tongue,  so  thoroughly  had  the 
Burmese  language  become  his  own. 

The  Burmans  learn  to  read  and  write  on  a  board  a  yard 
long,  made  black  with  charcoal  and  the  juice  of  a  leaf, 
while  the  letters  are  made  by  a  white  stone. 

Meantime,  Mrs.  Judson  had  been  studying  Siamese  for 
a  year  and  a  half,  and  had  translated  into  Siamese  the 
Burmese  catechism,  tract,  and  Matthew,  besides  turning 
one  of  their  celebrated  books  into  English ;  an  account  of 
the  incarnation  of  one  of  their  deities,  when  he  existed  in 
the  form  of  a  great  elephant. 

As  the  number  of  the  converts  increased,  the  viceroy 
of  Rangoon  began  to  be  alarmed,  and  persecution  was 
imminent.  Mr.  Judson  resolved  to  go  to  the  capital  of 
Burma,  Ava,  and  ask  the  emperor’s  permission  to  preach 
the  Christian  religion.  The  journey  was  made,  and  the 
emperor  received  him  with  great  state,  but  would  make  no 
concessions,  dashing  Mr.  Judsou’s  tract  to  the  ground. 

When  the  missionary  returned  and  told  the  converts 
that  he  must  remove  the  mission,  as  they  were  liable  to 
suffer  death  if  they  accepted  longer  the  Christian  faith, 
they  would  not  consent,  but  begged  him  to  remain,  and 
they  would  suffer  death  even,  if  need  be. 

After  eight  years  in  Rangoon,  Mrs.  Judson’s  health  was 
such  that  a  change  of  climate  seemed  imperative  to  save 
her  life.  She  visited  England,  where  she  was  cordially 
entertained  by  the  family  of  Mr.  Butterworth,  a  member 
of  Parliament,  meeting  Wilberforce  and  other  distinguished 
persons,  and  then  sailed  for  America,  reaching  New  York 
Sept.  25,  1822. 

She  was  met  in  Philadelphia  and  Bradford  by  eager 
hearts  that  did  not  expect  to  see  her  again  this  side  the 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


286 


grave.  For  four  nights  she  was  so  much  overcome  by  the 
union  with  friends  that  she  could  not  close  her  eyes  in 
sleep. 

Her  health  still  declining,  she  was  obliged  to  spend  the 
winter  in  Baltimore,  away  from  the  cold  of  New  England. 
Everywhere  she  won  the  love  of  all  who  met  her. 

Dr.  Francis  Wayland,  president  of  Brown  University, 
says  of  her  in  his  life  of  Dr.  Judson  :  “  I  do  not  remem¬ 
ber  ever  to  have  met  a  more  remarkable  woman.  To  great 
clearness  of  intellect,  large  powers  of  comprehension,  and 
intuitive  female  sagacity,  ripened  by  the  constant  neces¬ 
sity  of  independent  action,  she  added  that  heroic  disin¬ 
terestedness  which  naturally  loses  all  consciousness  of 
self  in  the  prosecution  of  a  great  object.  These  ele¬ 
ments,  however,  were  all  held  in  reserve,  and  were  hid¬ 
den  from  public  view  by  a  veil  of  unusual  feminine 
delicacy.  .  .  . 

“  As  she  found  herself  among  friends  who  were  inter¬ 
ested  in  the  Burnian  mission,  her  reserve  melted  away, 
her  eye  kindled,  every  feature  was  lighted  up  with  enthu¬ 
siasm,  and  she  was  everywhere  acknowledged  to  be  one 
of  the  most  fascinating  of  women.” 

While  in  America,  her  “  History  of  the  Burman  Mis¬ 
sion  ”  was  published.  Though  her  health  was  only  par¬ 
tially  restored,  she  was  restless  for  her  home  in  Burma, 
and  in  June,  1823,  she  said,  as  she  was  convinced,  her 
final  farewell  to  friends,  and  arrived  in  Rangoon  late  in 
the  fall. 

Mr.  Judson  had  received  permission  to  live  at  Ava,  and 
had  been  assured  of  the  royal  protection.  At  once,  there¬ 
fore,  upon  the  return  of  his  wife,  they  hastened  thither. 
It  was  well  that  they  could  not  foresee  the  dreadful  things 
which  awaited  them. 


ANN,  SABAH,  AND  EMILY  JUDSON. 


287 


War  soon  broke  out  between  Burma  and  the  English 
Government  in  India.  Refugees  from  the  iron  rule  of 
Burma  had  sought  shelter  in  places  under  British  rule. 
The  Burmese  monarch  demanded  their  surrender,  and,  this 
not  being  acceded  to,  war  was  begun. 

All  white  foreigners  in  Ava  were  suspected  of  being 
friends  of  England,  and  were  thrust  into  prison.  Mr. 
Judson,  with  a  few  others,  was  confined  in  the  death 
prison  at  Ava  for  eleven  months,  where  their  sufferings 
seemed  past  belief. 

The  prison  was  a  long,  low  building,  five  or  six  feet 
high,  with  no  ventilation  except  through  the  cracks  be¬ 
tween  the  boards.  The  atmosphere  was  a  constant  poison 
from  its  filth.  Men  and  women  were  fastened  in  stocks, — 
heavy  logs  of  timber,  bored  with  holes  to  admit  the  feet. 
Most  wore  heavy  chains  besides,  and  all  were  nearly 
naked.  The  feet  of  the  victims  were  fastened  to  a  huge 
pole,  which  was  drawn  up  by  pulleys,  so  that  the  head 
and  shoulders  rested  on  the  ground,  and  the  blood  flowed 
from  the  up-lifted  feet  into  the  head. 

Mr.  Judson’s  five  pairs  of  iron  fetters  weighed  fourteen 
pounds,  so  that  walking  was  impossible  except  by  “  shuf¬ 
fling  a  few  inches  at  a  time.”  Each  one  daily  expected 
death.  At  three  o’clock  each  afternoon  some  one  was  led 
out  to  be  executed,  and  no  one  knew  whose  turn  would 
come  next. 

Mrs.  Judson’s  noble  heroism  now  showed  itself.  She 
went  to  the  governor  and  begged  to  see  her  husband. 
Receiving  a  permit,  she  hastened  to  the  door,  and  he 
crawled  to  meet  her.  Then  she  sought  to  gain  admit¬ 
tance  to  the  queen,  but  was  not  allowed.  She  gave  money 
and  presents  to  the  officials,  and  they  clamored  for  more. 

“For  the  seven  following  months,”  writes  Mrs.  Jud- 


288 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


son  to  her  husband’s  brother,  Dr.  Elnathan  Judson,  when 
the  terrible  ordeal  was  over,  “  hardly  a  day  passed  that  I 
did  not  visit  some  one  of  the  members  of  government,  or 
branches  of  the  royal  family,  in  order  to  gain  their  in¬ 
fluence  in  our  behalf;  but  the  only  benefit  was  their 
encouraging  promises  preserved'  us  from  despair.  .  .  . 
Sometimes,  for  days  and  days  together,  I  could  not  go 
into  the  prison  till  after  dark,  when  I  had  two  miles  to 
walk,  in  returning  to  the  house.” 

She  was  finally  permitted  to  make  for  her  husband  a 
small  bamboo  room  in  the  prison,  where  he  could  be  much 
by  himself.  Occasionally  she  was  allowed  to  spend  two 
or  three  hours  with  him. 

After  Mr.  Judson  had  been  six  months  in  prison  their 
little  daughter,  Maria  Elizabeth  Butterworth  Judson,  was 
born,  Jan.  2G,  1825.  As  soon  as  Mrs.  Judson  could  leave 
her  room  she  hurried  over  to  the  prison.  The  bamboo 
room  had  been  torn  down,  her  husband’s  mat  and  pillow 
had  been  taken  by  the  jailers,  and  more  irons  put  upon 
him  than  before. 

One  of  the  jailers  opened  the  pillow  and  threw  away  a 
seemingly  hard  roll  of  cotton.  Some  hours  afterward  a 
Burman  took  the  roll  home  as  a  relic  of  the  banished 
prisoners,  and  months  later  the  manuscript  which  now 
makes  a  part  of  the  Burmese  Bible  was  found  within, 
unharmed. 

Mrs.  Judson  says  in  the  letter  to  her  brother-in-law: 
“I  went  immediately  to  the  governor’s  house.  He  was 
not  at  home,  but  had  ordered  his  wife  to  tell  me,  when  I 
came,  not  to  ask  to  have  the  additional  fetters  taken  off 
or  the  prisoners  released,  for  it  could  nut  be  done. 

I  went  to  the  prison  gate,  but  was  forbidden  to  enter. 
All  was  as  still  as  death.  I  was  determined  to  see  the 


ANN,  SARAH,  AND  EMILY  JUDSON. 


289 


governor  and  know  the  cause  of  this  additional  oppres¬ 
sion,  and  for  this  purpose  returned  iuto  town  the  same 
evening  at  an  hour  I  knew  he  would  be  at  home.  He  was 
in  his  audience-room,  and  as  1  entered  looked  up  without 
speaking,  but  exhibited  a  mixture  of  shame  and  affected 
anger  in  his  countenance. 

“  I  began  by  saying,  ‘  Your  lordship  has  hitherto  treated 
us  with  the  kindness  of  a  father.  .  .  .  You  have  prom¬ 
ised  me  particularly  that  you  would  stand  by  me  to  the 
last.  .  .  .  What  crime  has  Mr.  Judson  committed  to 
deserve  such  additional  punishment?’ 

“  The  old  man’s  hard  heart  was  melted ,  for  he  wept 
like  a  child.  ‘I  pity  you,  Tsa-yah-ga-dau,’  —  a  name  by 
which  he  always  called  me  ;  ‘  I  knew  you  would  make  me 
feel ;  I  therefore  forbade  your  application,  lint  you  must 
believe  me  when  I  say  I  do  not  wish  to  increase  the  suf¬ 
ferings  of  the  prisoners.  When  1  am  ordered  to  execute 
them,  the  least  that  I  can  do  is  to  put  them  out  of  sight. 
I  will  now  tell  you  what  I  have  never  told  you  before,  — 
that  three  times  I  have  received  intimations  from  the 
queen’s  brother  to  assassinate  all  the  white  prisoners  pri¬ 
vately  ;  but  I  would  not  do  it.  And  I  now  repeat  it,  — 
though  1  execute  all  the  others,  I  will  never  execute  your 
husband.  But  I  cannot  release  him  from  his  present  con¬ 
finement,  and  you  must  not  ask  it.’  ” 

Soon  after  this,  without  Mrs.  Judson’s  knowledge,  the 
white  prisoners  were  all  removed  ten  miles  to  a  prison  in 
the  country,  Oung-pen-la.  They  were  chained  two-and- 
two,  the  official  going  on  horseback,  while  his  slaves  drove 
the  prisoners,  under  a  burning  sun.  Their  bare  feet  were 
soon  blistered,  and  the  soles  became  destitute  of  skin. 
A  Greek,  in  perfect  health  when  they  started,  fell  dead 
on  the  way  from  the  heat  of  the  sun,  the  men  beating  and 


290 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


dragging  liim  till  they  were  weary.  Mr.  Judson  became 
so  exhausted  that  he  was  nearly  carried  by  the  man  to 
whom  he  was  chained. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Judson  could  find  out  where  her  hus¬ 
band  had  been  taken  she  followed  him  with  her  baby  in 
her  arms,  and  two  little  Burmese  girls.  She  obtained  a 
room  to  live  in,  which  was  half  full  of  grain.  One  of  the 
Burmese  girls  had  small-pox,  and  the  baby  and  Mrs.  Jud¬ 
son  soon  were  prostrated  with  it.  After  this  Mrs.  Jud¬ 
son  had  spotted  fever,  and  was  very  near  to  death.  She 
became  so  emaciated  that  she  seemed  no  more  her  former 
self.  The  Burmese  neighbors  who  came  in  to  see  her  die 
said:  “She  is  dead;  and  if  the  King  of  Angels  should 
come  in,  He  could  not  recover  her.” 

All  this  time  the  baby,  Maria,  was  half  starving  for  lack 
of  food.  Mrs.  Judson  was  unable  to  nurse  her;  there  was 
no  milk  to  be  had  in  the  village,  and  the  heart-rending 
cries  of  the  little  one  nearly  distracted  the  helpless  mother. 

By  making  presents  to  the  jailers,  Mr.  Judson,  scarcely 
able  to  stand,  from  the  effects  of  a  recent  fever,  was 
allowed  to  come  out  of  prison  and  take  the  emaciated  little 
creature  to  different  mothers  in  the  village,  that  she  might 
share  in  the  sustenance  of  their  own  babies.  One  can 
scarcely  picture  a  more  pathetic  scene  ;  the  mother  daily 
expecting  death,  the  father  daily  expecting  the  executioner 
(indeed,  they  learned  afterwards  that  they  were  taken  to 
Oung-pen-la  for  that  purpose,  and  were  saved  only  because 
the  “  pakan-woon  ”  was  himself  executed)  ;  the  brilliant 
scholar  and  devoted  preacher,  with  a  few  inches  of  heavy 
chain  between  his  shackled  feet,  carrying  a  half-starved 
child,  “  a  beggar  at  the  breasts  of  pitying  mothers  !  ” 

Mrs.  Judson  partially  recovered.  At  the  end  of  six 
months  in  Oung-pen-la  and  two  months  at  Maloun,  where 


ANN,  SABAH,  AND  EMILY  JUDSON. 


291 


he  was  obliged  to  act  as  an  interpreter,  Moung  Schwaloo, 
the  north  governor  of  the  palace,  obtained  Mr.  Judson’s 
release,  offering  himself  as  security.  Mr.  Judson  helped 
the  Burmese  to  negotiate  a  peace  with  their  British  con¬ 
querors,  under  Sir  Archibald  Campbell,  and  he  and  his 
wife  and  child  were  taken  to  the  English  camp,  where 
they  received  every  courtesy. 

A  British  officer,  Major  Calder  Campbell,  wounded  and 
robbed  by  his  faithless  Burmese  boatmen,  thus  speaks  of 
Mrs.  Judson  :  “  We  were  taken  on  board.  My  eyes  first 
rested  on  the  thin,  attenuated  form  of  a  lady  —  a  white 
lady !  the  first  white  woman  I  had  seen  for  more  than  a 
year.  .  .  .  She  was  seated  in  a  large  sort  of  swinging 
chair,  of  American  construction,  in  which  her  slight, 
emaciated,  but  graceful  form  appeared  almost  ethereal. 
Yet,  with  much  of  heaven,  there  were  still  the  breathings 
of  earthly  feeling  about  her,  for  at  her  feet  rested  a  babe, 
a  little,  wan  baby,  on  which  her  eyes  often  turned  with  all 
a  mother’s  love  ;  and,  gazing  frequently  upon  her  delicate 
features  with  a  fond  yet  fearful  glance,  her  husband. 

“  Her  face  was  pale,  very  pale,  with  that  expression  of 
deep  and  serious  thought  which  speaks  of  the  strong  and 
vigorous  mind  within  the  frail  and  perishing  body ;  her 
brown  hair  was  braided  over  a  placid  and  holy  brow  ;  but 
her  hands  —  those  small,  lily  hands  —  were  quite  beauti¬ 
ful  ;  beautiful  they  were,  and  very  wan ;  for,  ah,  they 
told  of  disease, —  of  death  —  death  in  all  its  transparent 
grace,  —  when  the  sickly  blood  shines  through  the  clear 
skin,  even  as  the  bright  poison  lights  up  the  Venetian 
glass  wdiich  it  is  about  to  shatter. 

“Mrs.  Judson’s  powers  of  conversation  were  of  the 
first  order,  .  .  .  and  gained  a  heightened  interest  from  the 
beautiful,  energetic  simplicity  of  her  language,  as  -well  as 


202 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


from  the  certainty  I  felt  that  so  fragile  a  flower  as  she  in 
very  truth  was,  had  hut  a  brief  season  to  linger  on  earth.” 

On  March  6,  182G,  Mr.  Judson  and  his  wife  and  child 
sailed  down  the  Irrawaddy  in  a  British  gun-boat,  and 
reached  Rangoon  March  21.  Years  afterward,  when  sev¬ 
eral  persons  were  discussing  what  they  regarded  as  the 
highest  type  of  enjoyment,  and  giving  their  experiences, 
Mr.  Judson  remarked  :  “I  know  of  a  much  higher  pleas¬ 
ure  than  tliat.  What  do  you  think  of  floating  down  the 
Irrawaddy  on  a  cool,  moonlight  evening,  with  your  wife 
by  your  side,  and  your  baby  in  your  arms,  free  —  all  free  ? 
But  you  cannot  understand  it,  either ;  it  needs  a  twenty- 
one  months’  qualification ;  and  I  can  never  regret  my 
twenty-one  months  of  misery,  when  I  recall  that  one  de¬ 
licious  thrill.  I  think  I  have  had  a  better  appreciation  of 
what  heaven  may  be  ever  since.” 

They  found  the  little  church  at  Rangoon  much  scattered. 
The  English  army  held  Rangoon  only  temporarily,  and  it 
seemed  essential  that  they  should  live  where  they  might 
have  the  protection  of  the  British  flag.  A  new  city  had 
been  started,  called,  in  honor  of  the  governor-general  of 
India,  “  Amherst,”  where  it  was  expected  that  the  seat 
of  government  would  be  located. 

Here  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Judson  decided  to  begin  anew  their 
work.  The  English  Government,  desiring  to  make  a  com¬ 
mercial  treaty  with  the  Burmese  king,  Mr.  Judson  was  pre¬ 
vailed  upon  to  go  to  Ava,  as  he  so  well  understood  the 
language,  with  the  assurance  that  the  English  would  do  nil 
in  their  power  to  secure  a  clause  in  the  treaty  throwing  the 
whole  of  Burma  open  to  the  spread  of  the  gospel. 

After  his  departure  Mrs.  Judson  built  a  little  bamboo 
dwelling-house,  and  two  school-houses,  in  which  she  both 
taught  and  held  public  worship  on  Sundays. 


ANN,  SARAH,  AND  EMTLY  JUDSON. 


293 


In  the  midst  of  this  work,  the  fatal  fever  came  again. 
From  the  first  she  felt  that  she  should  not  survive.  The 
terrible  prison-life  of  her  husband  at  Ava  had  done  its 
work.  During  the  eighteen  days  of  her  illness  she  some¬ 
times  said  :  “The  ‘  teacher  ’  is  long  in  coming,  and  the  new 
missionaries  are  long  in  coming ;  I  must  die  alone,  and 
leave  my  little  one ;  but  as  it  is  the  will  of  God,  I  ac¬ 
quiesce  in  His  will.  I  am  not  afraid  of  death,  but  I  am 
afraid  I  shall  not  be  able  to  bear  these  pains.  Tell  the 
‘  teacher  ’  that  the  disease  was  most  violent,  and  I  could 
not  write;  tell  him  how  I  suffered  and  died,  and  take  care 
of  the  house  and  things  until  he  returns.” 

The  last  two  days  she  was  comparatively  free  from 
pain.  Her  last  words  at  evening  were :  “  I  feel  quite 
well,  only  very  weak  ”  ;  and  then,  with  one  exclamation  of 
distress  in  the  Burmese  language,  she  ceased  to  breathe, 
Oct.  24,  1826,  at  the  age  of  thirty-seven. 

So  short  the  life,  and  yet  the  results  so  blessed  !  A 
great  work  begun  in  Burma  ;  an  example  of  unsurpassed 
devotion  to  a  husband ;  an  illustration  of  heroism,  of 
dignity,  and  of  nobility  of  mind  and  character  worthy  of 
imitation. 

The  Burmese  converts  gathered  about  their  “  white 
mamma,”  and  buried  her  at  Amherst  under  the  hope-tree 
( hopia ).  Mr.  Judson  returned  to  his  desolate  home  three 
months  later,  and  in  the  following  April  made  another 
grave  beside  that  of  his  young  wife,  and  laid  little  Maria 
therein,  at  the  age  of  two  years  and  three  months  ;  “  her 
hands,  the  exact  pattern  of  her  mother’s,  folded  on  her 
cold  breast,”  wrote  Mr.  Judson  to  Mrs.  Hasseltine  at 
Bradford. 

He  was  but  thirty-nine,  and  had  buried  his  wife  and  his 
three  children,  —  his  first  infant  in  the  Bay  of  Bengal; 


294 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


his  second,  Roger  Williams,  in  the  jungle  graveyard  at 
Rangoon  ;  and  Maria,  under  the  hopia-tree.  The  blow 
was  a  terrible  one.  “  He  looks  as  if  worn  out  with 
his  suffering  and  sorrows,”  said  one  of  his  missionary 
friends. 

He  turned  at  once  to  the  translating  of  the  Psalms  into 
Burmese,  and  to  the  preparation  of  two  works  for  the 
schools,  —  the  one,  astronomical,  and  the  other,  geographi¬ 
cal.  But  the  days  were  desolate  for  a  man  of  such  an 
affectionate  heart.  Two  years  later,  on  the  anniversary 
of  Mrs.  Judson’s  death,  he  wrote  her  sisters:  “  It  is  the 
second  anniversary  of  the  triumph  of  death  over  all  my 
hopes  of  earthly  bliss.  ...  It  proves  -a  stormy  evening, 
and  the  desolation  around  me  accords  with  the  desolate 
state  of  my  own  mind.” 

A  year  later,  he  wrote  to  his  mother:  “Do  not  think 
that  I  can  ever  forget  you.  When  I  used  to  carry  about 
my  poor  little  Maria,  I  thought  how  much  my  mother 
loved  her  little  Adoniram,  and  carried  him  about,  and  took 
care  of  him.  And  though  he  has  now  grown  almost  out 
of  her  knowledge,  and  been  parted  many  years,  and  will 
probably  see  her  no  more  on  earth,  he  can  never  forget 
how  much  he  owes  to  his  own  dear  mother.” 

Instead  of  Amherst  being  made  the  center  of  govern¬ 
ment  and  the  headquarters  of  the  English  army,  as  had 
been  expected,  Maulmain  was  chosen,  about  twenty-five 
miles  farther  north,  and  it  seemed  advisable  to  move 
thither,  Sir  Archibald  Campbell  having  given  a  lot  for  the 
mission.  The  lot,  however,  was  a  lonely  place,  with  a 
thick  jungle  close  at  hand,  where  the  howls  of  wild  beasts 
were  often  heard  at  midnight. 

Others  had  come  to  join  the  workers  in  far-off  Burma. 
Young  Colman,  from  Boston,  full  of  promise  and  devo- 


ANN,  SAFA  IT,  AND  EMILY  JUDSON. 


295 


tion,  had  died  after  four  years  of  earnest  labor.  A  young 
man  in  Waterville  College,  Me.,  slight  in  physique,  but 
strong  in  heart  and  purpose,  said,  “  I  will  go  in  his 
place  ”  ;  and  George  Dana  Boardman  made  himself  ready 
for  his  work. 

Another  was  moved  by  the  death  of  Colman,  and 
wrote :  — 

“  ’T  is  the  voice  of  deep  sorrow  from  India’s  shore, 

The  flower  of  our  churches  is  withered  and  dead ; 

The  gem  that  shoue  brightly  will  sparkle  no  more, 

And  the  tears  of  the  Christian  profusely  are  shed. 


“  Mourn,  daughters  of  Arracan,  mourn  ! 

The  rays  of  that  star,  clear  and  bright, 

That  so  sweetly  on  Chittagong  shone, 

Are  shrouded  in  black  clouds  of  night, 

For  Colman  is  gone !  ” 

The  author  of  these  lines  was  Sarah  Hall,  born  in 
Alstead,  N.  II  ,  Nov.  4,  1803,  and  taken,  while  a  child, 
to  Salem,  Mass.  The  eldest  of  thirteen  children,  her 
young  life  was  full  of  the  care  incident  to  such  a  family 
circle.  Exceedingly  fond  of  poetry,  she  early  showed  de¬ 
cided  ability  as  a  poet,  and  a  love  for  knowledge  which  in¬ 
dicated  the  rare  mind  she  possessed.  Her  heart  turned 
toward  missions.  At  thirteen,  she  wrote  a  tender  poem 
on  the  death  of  little  Roger  Williams  Judson.  At  seven¬ 
teen  we  find  her  teaching  school,  that  she  may  gain  the 
means  for  a  better  education.  She  has  finished  Butler’s 
“Analogy,”  Paley’s  “Evidences,”  Campbell’s  “Philos¬ 
ophy  of  Rhetoric,”  and  later  she  is  teaching  her  little 
brothers  at  home,  that  she  may  have  time  for  Latin,  logic, 
and  geometry. 


296 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


She  has  i-ead  the  “  Life  of  Samuel  J.  Mills,”  and  is 
ready  to  exclaim  :  “  Oh,  that  I,  too,  could  suffer  priva¬ 
tions,  hardships,  and  discouragements,  and  even  find  a 
watery  grave,  for  the  sake  of  bearing  the  news  of  salva¬ 
tion  to  the  poor  heathen  !  Then  I  have  checked  myself 
in  the  wild,  unreasonable  wish.  Sinners  perishing  all 
around  me,  and  I,  an  ignorant,  weak,  faithless  creature, 
almost  panting  to  tell  the  far  he  i then  of  Christ !  ” 

When  young  Boardman  met  Sarah  Hall,  “  their  spirits, 
their  hopes,  their  aspirations  were  one.”  When  asked  to 
become  the  wife  of  a  missionary,  Sarah’s  mother  said,  in 
the  agony  of  her  heart,  “  Oh,  I  cannot  part  with  you  !  ” 
but  a  month  later,  as  she  embraced  her  tenderly,  she  said, 
“  I  hope  I  am  willing.” 

And  even  after  the  marriage,  July  4,  1825,  when  not  yet 
twenty-two,  Sarah  was  leaving  the  paternal  roof,  she  bent 
her  fair  head  out  from  the  carriage^  window,  and  said, 
“Father,  are  you  willing?  Say,  father,  that  you  are 
willing  I  should  go.”  And  the  grieving  father  said, 
“  Yes,  my  child,  I  am  willing.”  “  Now  I  can  go  joyfully,” 
she  said,  and  was  soon  on  her  way  to  India. 

“  She  was,  at  this  time,”  says  one  who  knew  her,  “a 
gentle,  confiding,  persuasive  being,  who  would  sweeten  the 
cup  of  life  to  those  who  drank  it  with  her.  Further  acquain¬ 
tance  would  develop  strength  as  well  as  loveliness  of  char¬ 
acter.  It  would  be  seen  that  she  could  do  and  endure  as 
well  as  love  and  please.  Sweetness  and  strength,  gentle¬ 
ness  and  firmness,  were  in  her  character  most  happily 
blended.” 

After  their  arrival  in  India,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boardman 
spent  some  time  in  Calcutta  studying  the  language.  Mrs. 
Boardman  was  said  to  possess  “  faultless  features,  molded 
ou  the  Grecian  model,  beautiful  transparent  skin,  warm, 


ANN,  SARAH,  AND  EMILY  JUDSON. 


297 


meek  blue  eyes,  and  soft  hair,  brown  in  the  shadow,  and 
gold  in  the  sun.” 

The  Boardmans  reached  Amherst  just  before  little 
Maria  Judson  was  buried,  and  rendered  all  the  assist¬ 
ance  possible.  “After  leaving  the  grave,”  writes  the 
consecrated  Boardman,  “we  had  a  delightful  conversa¬ 
tion  on  the  kindness  and  tender  mercies  of  our  heavenly 
Father.  Brother  Judson  seemed  carried  above  his  grief.” 

Mrs.  Boardman  became  very  ill  at  Amherst.  As  soon 
as  she  was  able,  they  went  to  Maulmain,  Dr.  Judson  com¬ 
ing  a  little  later;  he  had  been  given  the  title  of  D.  D. 
some  years  before  by  his  own  college,  Brown  University, 
though  he  preferred  not  to  use  it,  but  the  world  has  thus 
designated  him. 

The  work  went  on  encouragingly  at  Maulmain,  but 
after  seven  months  the  Boardmans  decided  to  go  to 
Tavoy,  the  only  important  point  within  one  hundred  and 
fifty  miles,  thus  to  broaden  the  field  of  labor.  Here  Mrs. 
Boardman,  after  “unwearied  toil,  repeated  repulses  and 
discouragements,”  established  a  school  for  girls. 

The  next  year,  1829,  Mr.  Boardman  made  his  first  tour 
among  the  Karens,  wild  men,  as  their  name  indicates, 
scattered  throughout  Burma,  Siam,  and  parts  of  China. 
They  number  from  two  hundred  thousand  to  four  hundred 
thousand. 

“  Of  all  the  people  in  the  world,”  wrote  Mr.  Boardman, 
“  the  Karens,  I  believe,  are  the  most  timid  and  irresolute. 
And  the  fable  that  when  some  superior  being  was  dis¬ 
pensing  written  languages  and  books  to  the  various  na¬ 
tions  of  the  earth  a  surly  dog  came  along  and  drove  away 
the  Karens  and  carried  away  their  books  agrees  better 
with  their  indolent  and  timid  character  than  half  the  other 
fables  in  vogue  among  the  wise  and  learned  Burmans  do 


298 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


with  truth  or  common-sense.  .  .  .  They  are  in  general 
as  careless  about  the  future  as  the  present,  except  those 
who  have  heard  the  gospel,  and  those  who  have  been  en¬ 
couraged  by  the  Burmans  to  build  kyoungs  and  pagodas, 
in  the  hope  of  avoiding  in  the  next  world  the  state  of 
hogs  and  dogs,  and  snakes  and  worms.  They  are  too  idle 
to  be  quarrelsome  or  ambitious,  and  too  poor  to  gamble, 
or  eat  or  drink  to  very  great  excess.” 

When  Mr.  Boardman  went  among  them  he  learned  that 
they  kept  a  mysterious  book,  carefully  preserved,  which, 
although  they  did  not  know  its  contents,  they  had  wor¬ 
shipped  for  twelve  years.  He  found  that  it  was  the 
“  Book  of  Common  Prayer  with  the  Psalms,”  published 
at  Oxford,  England. 

Mr.  Boardman  endured  great  privations  in  his  jungle 
trips  among  the  Karens.  “  The  paths  which  lead  to  their 
settlements,”  he  said,  “  are  so  obscurely  marked,  so  little 
trodden,  and  so  devious  in  their  course,  that  a  guide  is 
needed  to  conduct  one  from  village  to  village,  even  over 
the  best  part  of  the  way.  Not  unfrequently  the  path 
leads  over  precipices,  over  cliffs  and  dangerous  declivi¬ 
ties,  along  deep  ravines,  frequently  meandering  with  a 
small  streamlet  for  miles.  .  .  .  There  are  no  bridges, 
and  we  often  have  to  ford  or  swim  over  considerable 
streams,  particularly  in  the  raiuy  season,  —  when,  how¬ 
ever,  the  difficulties  of  travelling  are  so  great  as  to  render 
it  next  to  impossible.  Sometimes  we  have  to  sleep  in  the 
open  air  in  the  woods,  where,  besides  insects  and  reptiles, 
the  tiger,  the  rhinoceros,  and  the  wild  elephant  render  our 
situation  not  a  little  uncomfortable  and  dangerous.” 

Mr.  Boardman's  health  was  becoming  undermined. 
Death  had  entered  the  household  and  taken  the  first¬ 
born,  “  the  bright,  beautiful,  darling  Sarah  Ann,”  two 


ANN,  SARAH,  AND  EMILY  JUDSON 


291) 


years  and  eight  months  old.  “I  knew  all  the  time  that 
she  was  very  ill,”  wrote  Mrs.  Board  man ;  “but  it  did  not 
occur  to  me  that  she  might  die,  till  she  was  seized  with 
the  apoplexy,  about  three  hours  before  she  closed  her 
eyes  upon  us  forever.  Oh,  the  agony  of  that  moment !  .  .  . 

“A  few  hours  before  she  died  she  called  us  to  her, 
kissed  us,  and  passed  her  dear  hand,  still  full  and  dimpled 
as  in  health,  softly  over  our  faces.  The  pupils  of  her 
eyes  were  so  dilated  that  she  could  not  see  us  distinctly, 
and  once,  for  a  moment  or  two,  her  mind  seemed  to  be 
wandering ;  then,  looking  anxiously  into  my  face,  she 
said,  ‘  I  frightened,  mamma  !  I  frightened  !  ’  ”  But  the 
child  had  to  go  alone  over  the  same  journey  which  so 
many  have  taken  before  her. 

She  was  a  most  affectionate  and  attractive  child,  with 
her  blue  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks,  and  could  speak  Burmese 
like  a  native.  A  little  over  a  year  later,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Boardman  buried  their  youngest  child,  a  boy  of  eight 
months. 

Mr.  Boardman  was  admonished  that  his  own  work  wag 
near  its  close.  His  eyes  were  brighter  and  his  cheeks 
more  hollow.  He  longed  to  go  once  more  among  his 
beloved  Karens  to  baptize  several  that  had  become 
Christians.  lie  was  carried,  therefore,  on  a  litter  sev¬ 
eral  days’  journey  into  the  wilderness,  and  by  the  water¬ 
side,  though  so  weak  that  he  could  not  breathe  without 
being  fanned,  he  saw  thirty-four  make  the  covenant  with 
their  Lord. 

A  storm  coming  up,  his  mattress  and  pillows  were 
drenched  with  rain,  though  his  friends  tried  to  shield  him 
with  their  umbrellas.  “  How  kind  and  good  our  Father 
in  heaven  is  to  me,”  said  the  dying  man  to  his  wife ; 
“  how  many  are  racked  with  pain,  while  I,  though  near 


300 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


the  grave,  am  almost  free  from  distress  of  body.  I  suf¬ 
fer  nothing,  nothing  to  what  you,  my  dear  Sarah,  had  to 
endure  last  year,  when  I  thought  I  must  lose  you.  And 
then  I  have  you  to  move  me  so  tenderly  !  I  should  have 
sunk  into  the  grave  ere  this  but  for  your  assiduous  atten¬ 
tion.  ...  I  have  long  ago,  and  many  times,  committed 
you  and  our  little  one  into  the  bauds  of  our  covenant 
God.  ...  lie  will  be  your  stay  and  support  when  I  am 
gone.  The  separation  will  be  but  short.  Oh,  how  happy 
I  shall  be  to  welcome  you  to  heaven  !  ” 

Mr.  Boardman  died  in  the  jungles,  and  was  borne  back 
to  his  home  on  the  litter,  to  be  buried  beside  his  little 
Sarah. 

Airs .  Boardman  was  urged  to  return  to  America,  with 
her  only  remaining  child,  George,  two  years  and  a  half 
old,  now  minister  of  the  First  Baptist  Church  in  Phila¬ 
delphia,  but  she  had  come  to  spend  her  life  for  the 
heathen,  and  she  could  not  leave  her  work. 

The  gentle  Mrs.  Boardman  went  on  in  her  self-denying 
labors.  She  made  tours  among  the  Karens,  as  her  husband 
had  done.  “  Perhaps  you  had  better  send  the  chair,”  she 
wrote  a  friend ;  “as  it  is  convenient  to  be  carried  over  the 
streams  when  they  are  deep.  You  will  laugh  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  have  forded  all  the  smaller  ones.” 

She  often  spoke  to  two  or  three  hundred  Karens.  Her 
village  schools  were  so  successful  that  when  an  appropria¬ 
tion  was  made  by  government  for  schools  throughout  the 
provinces  it  was  stipulated  that  they  “  be  conducted  on 
the  plan  of  Mrs.  Boardman’s  schools  at  Tavoy.” 

She  wrote:  “Every  moment  of  my  time  is  occupied, 
from  sunrise  till  ten  o’clock  in  the  evening.  .  .  .  The 
superintendence  of  the  food  and  clothing  of  both  the 
boarding-schools,  toge'ther  with  the  care  of  five  day- 


ANN,  SAHA II,  AND  EMILY  JUDSON. 


301 


schools,  under  native  teachers,  devolves  wholly  on  me. 
My  day-schools  are  proving  every  week  more  and  more 
interesting.” 

A  little  more  than  three  years  after  the  death  of  Mr. 
Boardmau,  Mrs.  Boardman  became  t lie  second  wife  of 
Dr.  Judson.  Ann  Hasseltine  had  been  dead  for  nearly 
eight  years,  and  the  lonely  missionary  needed  an  educated 
and  devoted  helper  like  Sarah  Boardman.  They  were 
married  April  10,  1834. 

When  Mr.  Boardman  died,  Dr.  Judson  had  written  her 
concerning  her  child  :  “If  you  should  be  prematurely  taken 
away,  and  should  condescend,  on  your  dying  bed,  to  com¬ 
mit  him  to  me,  by  the  briefest  line  or  verbal  message,  I 
hereby  pledge  my  fidelity  to  receive  and  treat  him  as  my 
own  son,  to  send  him  home  in  the  best  time  and  way,  to 
provide  for  his  education,  and  to  watch  over  him  as  long 
as  I  live.  More  than  this  I  cannot  do,  and  less  would  be 
unworthy  of  the  merits  of  his  parents.”  And  now  Dr. 
Judson  was  to  receive  and  treat  George  “  as  his  own 
son,”  a  promise  which  he  lovingly  kept. 

The  work  had  grown  wonderfully  since  those  seven 
years  when  Dr.  Judson  waited  for  his  first  convert.  In 
1832  there  were  one  hundred  and  forty-three  baptisms,  — 
over  five  hundred  since  his  arrival  in  Burma. 

Mrs.  Judson  was  devoting  much  of  her  time  to  the 
study  of  the  Peguan,  —  a  large  portion  of  the  population  of 
Maulmain  and  Amherst  were  Peguans,  —  and  translated 
the  New  Testament  and  several  tracts  from  the  Burmese 
into  the  Peguan. 

Dr.  Judson  was  just  completing  his  first  rough  draft  of 
the  Burmese  Bible,  on  which  he  had  spent  nearly  seven¬ 
teen  years.  He  preferred  to  preach,  and  did  so  every 
Sunday,  and  every  evening  of  the  week,  but  he  knew  that 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


5U2 

for  all  who  labored  after  him  this  arduous  translation  was 
a  necessity.  Seven  long  and  laborious  years  he  gave  to 
its  revision.  The  work  was  accurate  and  thorough. 
“  Long  and  toilsome  research  among  the  biblical  critics  and 
commentators,  especially  the  German,  was  frequently  requi¬ 
site  to  satisfy  my  mind,”  he  says,  “  that  my  first  position 
was  the  right  one.  ...  I  never  read  a  chapter  without 
pencil  in  hand  and  Griesbach  and  Parkhurst  at  my  elbow  ; 
and  it  will  be  an  object  to  me  through  life  to  bring  the 
translation  to  such  a  state  that  it  may  be  a  standard 
work.” 

“The  best  judges,”  says  Dr.  Francis  Wayland,  “pro¬ 
nounce  it  to  be  all  that  he  aimed  at  making  it;  and,  also, 
what  with  him  never  was  an  object,  an  imperishable  monu¬ 
ment  of  the  man’s  genius.  .  .  .  We  honor  Wycliffe  and 
Luther  for  their  labors  in  their  respective  mother-tongues, 
but  what  meed  of  praise  is  due  to  Judson  for  a  translation 
of  the  Bible,  perfect  as  a  literary  work,  in  a  language  so 
foreign  as  the  Burmese  ?  ” 

In  October,  1835,  the  Judsons  welcomed  the  birth  of  a 
daughter,  Abby  Ann,  named  after  Dr.  Judson’s  only  sis¬ 
ter  and  his  first  wife.  She  came  to  a  lonely  house,  for 
Mrs.  Judson  the  previous  December  had  sent  her  only 
child,  George,  a  boy  of  six,  to  America  to  be  educated. 

She  writes  to  her  sister:  “After  deliberation,  accom¬ 
panied  with  tears  and  agony  and  prayers,  I  came  to  the 
conviction  that  it  was  my  duty  to  send  away  my  only 
child,  my  darling  George,  and  yesterday  he  bade  me  a 
long  farewell.  .  .  .  My  eyes  are  rolling  down  with  tears, 
and  I  can  scarcely  hold  my  pen.  ...  I  shall  never  forget 
his  looks  as  he  stood  by  the  door  and  gazed  at  me  for  the 
last  time.  His  eyes  were  filling  with  tears,  and  his  little 
face  red  with  suppressed  emotion.  But  he  subdued  his 


A NN,  S A II All,  AND  EMILY  JUDSON. 


303 


feeling's,  and  it  was  not  till  he  had  turned  away,  and  was 
going  down  the  steps,  that  he  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.” 

To  another,  she  writes:  “Let  George  call  the  persons 
with  whom  he  finds  a  home  ‘  uncle  ’  and  ‘  aunt,’  if  they 
desire  it,  but  I  do  not  like  to  have  him  call  others  ‘  papa’ 
and  ‘  mamma  ’  while  we  live.  Let  him  often  be  reminded 
of  us,  and  let  the  love  which  he  now  feels  for  us  be  care¬ 
fully  cherished.  I  could  not  bear  to  be  forgotten  by  the 
little  one  who  was  so  long  my  only  earthly  comfort.” 

Mrs.  Judson’s  friends  in  America  said  -they  almost 
feared  to  take  charge  of  little  George,  “  for  so  perfect  had 
been  his  mother's  work  in  training  him  thus  far  that  they 
should  fear  they  would  only  mar  what  had  been  done.” 

A  son,  Adoniram,  was  born  to  Mrs.  Judson  in  Maul- 
main,  April  7,  1837,  called  by  the  natives,  “Pwen,” 
meaning  a  flower,  and  the  following  year,  July  15,  1838, 
another  son,  Elnathan. 

In  1839,  when  Dr.  Judson  was  a  little  past  fifty,  his 
health  failed  from  an  affection  of  his  lungs,  entailing  a 
loss  of  voice,  but  he  partially  recovered  after  a  sea  voyage. 
These  were  anxious  days  for  Mrs.  Judson,  who  wrote  him-. 
“  I  have  often  wondered  that  I  should  have  been  so  singu¬ 
larly  blessed  as  to  possess  that  heart,  which  is  far  more 
precious  than  all  the  world  beside.  ...  At  times,  the 
sweet  hope  that  you  will  soon  return,  1’estored  to  perfect 
health,  buoys  up  my  spirit ;  but  perhaps  you  will  find  it 
necessary  to  go  farther,  a  necessity  from  which  I  cannot 
but  shrink  with  doubt  and  dread ;  or  you  may  come  back 
only  to  die  with  me.  This  last  agonizing  thought  crushes 
me  down  in  overwhelming'  sorrow.” 

At  the  close  of  1839,  a  third  sou  was  born,  Henry,  who 
died  under  two  years  of  age,  at  Serampore,  where  Mrs. 
Judson  had  gone  for  the  health  of  herself  and  children. 


304 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Three  years  later  another  son  was  born,  named  Henry 
Hall,  after  the  child  buried  in  the  mission  burial-ground  at 
Serampore.  Luther  had  died  at  birth  in  1841. 

Dr.  Judson,  after  his  twenty-four  years  spent  on  the 
Burmese  Bible,  had  carried  forward,  at  the  urgent  request 
of  the  Board  at  home,  his  Burmese  dictionary,  and  Mrs. 
Judson,  of  whom  her  husband  said,  “  It  is  no  more  than 
truth  to  say  that  there  is  scarcely  an  individual  foreigner 
now  alive  who  speaks  and  writes  the  Burmese  tongue  so 
acceptably  as  she  does.”  was  translating  “  Pilgrim’s  Prog¬ 
ress  ”  into  Burmese,  and  editing  the  Burmese  newspaper, 
during  the  absence  of  Mr.  Stevens. 

In  1843,  her  seventh  child,  Charles,  was  born,  who  died 
nearly  two  years  later,  at  Maulmain,  and  Dec.  27,  1844, 
Edward,  who  has  been  so  blessed  in  his  labors  in  New 
York  City. 

Still  in  early  middle  life,  but  with  her  constitution 
broken  by  such  frequent  illness  and  consequent  care,  it 
became  evident  that  only  a  trip  across  the  ocean  could 
prolong  the  years  of  the  gifted  woman. 

On  April  26,  1845,  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Judson,  with  Abby, 
Adoniram,  and  Elnathan,  embarked  on  the  ship  “  Para¬ 
gon  ”  for  London.  Henry,  Charles,  and  Edward  were 
left  in  the  care  of  the  missionaries  at  Maulmain.  The 
vessel  sprang  aleak,  and  put  in  for  repairs  at  Port  Louis, 
Isle  of  France.  Mrs.  Judson  had  so  improved  that  it  was 
deemed  best  for  Dr.  Judson  to  return  to  his  work,  though 
he  longed  once  more  to  see  his  native  land.  Thinking 
that  she  must  part  from  her  husband,  Mrs.  Judson  wrote 
him  this  touching  poem  :  — 

“We  part  on  this  green  islet,  love,  — 

Thou  for  the  Eastern  main, 

I  for  the  setting  sun,  love ; 

Oh,  when  to  meet  again' 


ANN,  SABAH,  AND  EMILY  JUDSON. 


305 


“  My  tears  fall  fast  for  thee,  love; 

How  can  I  say  farewell ! 

But  go;  thy  God  be  with  thee,  love, 
My  heart's  deep  grief  to  quell. 

“Yet  my  spirit  clings  to  thine,  love; 
Thy  soul  remains  with  me, 

And  oft  we  ’ll  hold  communion  sweet 
O’er  the  dark  and  distant  sea. 

“  And  who  can  paint  our  mutual  joy, 
When,  all  our  wanderings  o’er, 

We  both  shall  clasp  our  infants  three, 
At  home,  on  Burma’s  shore ! 

“But  higher  shall  our  raptures  glow, 

On  yon  celestial  plain, 

When  the  loved  and  parted  here  below 
Meet,  ne’er  to  part  again.” 


Mrs,  Judson  soon  experienced  a  relapse,  and  Dr.  Jud- 
son  decided  to  continue  with  her  to  America.  They  took 
passage  on  the  “  Sophia  Walker,”  bound  for  the  United 
States,  leaving  Port  Louis  July  25. 

Mrs.  Judson  rallied  once,  but  again  failed  rapidly.  The 
ship  reached  St.  Helena  Aug.  26,  and  remained  there  for 
a  few  days.  Mrs.  Judson  longed  to  see  her  parents,  from 
whom  she  had  been  separated  twenty  years,  and  especially 
her  son  George,  then  seventeen  years  old ;  but  she  was 
equally  ready  for  the  unseen  world,  saying  to  her  hus¬ 
band :  “I  am  longing  to  depart.  .  .  .  What  can  I  want 
beside?”  ;  but  was  constrained  to  say,  “  I  am  in  a  strait 
betwixt  two  ;  let  the  will  of  God  be  done.” 

She  was  so  resigned  about  the  children  remaining  in 
Burma,  that  Dr.  Judson  said:  “You  seem  to  have  for- 


306 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


gotten  the  little  ones  we  have  left  behind.”  “  Can  a 
mother  forget  ?  ”  she  replied,  and  was  unable  to  proceed. 
Charlie  had  then  been  dead  three  weeks,  but  the  parents 
did  not  know  it. 

On  Sept.  1,  at  two  o’clock  in  the  morning,  her  husband 
said  to  her  :  “  Do  you  still  love  the  Saviour  ?  ”  “  Oh,  yes  !  ” 
she  replied,  “  I  ever  love  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.”  “  Do 
you  still  love  me  ?  ”  he  asked.  She  answered  in  the 
affirmative.  “Then  give  me  one  more  kiss,”  he  said. 
An  hour  later  she  had  passed  away. 

During  the  day  a  coffin  was  procured  from  the  shore, 
and  in  the  afternoon  the  body  was  taken  to  the  land,  and 
buried  at  six  o’clock,  near  the  grave  of  Airs.  Chater,  a 
missionary  from  Ceylon,  who  also  had  died  on  the  passage 
home.  The  ship  sailed  away  that  evening.  “  In  the  soli¬ 
tude  of  my  cabin,  with  my  poor  children  citing  around 
me,”  writes  Dr.  Judson,  “  I  could  not  help  abandoning 
myself  to  heart-breaking  sorrow.  ...  I  exceedingly  re¬ 
gret  that  there  is  no  portrait  of  the  second  as  of  the  first 
Mrs.  Judson.  Her  soft  blue  eye,  her  mild  aspect,  her 
lovely  face  and  elegant  form  have  never  been  delineated 
on  canvas .  They  must  soon  pass  away  from  the  memory 
even  of  her  children,  but  they  will  remain  forever  en¬ 
shrined  in  her  husband’s  heart.”  Dead  at  forty-two,  but 
Sarah  Boardman  Judson’s  work  had  been  most  helpful 
and  lasting.  “  Her  translation  of  Mr.  Boardman’s  ‘  Dying 
Father’s  Advice,’ ”  writes  Dr.  Judson,  “  has  become  one 
of  our  standard  tracts  ;  and  her  hymns,  in  Burmese, —  about 
twenty  in  number  —  are  probably  the  best  in  our  ‘  Chapel 
Hymn  Book,’  a  work  which  she  was  appointed  by  the 
mission  to  edit.  Besides  these  works,  she  published  four 
volumes  of  Scripture  questions,  which  are  in  constant  use 
in  our  Sabbath  Schools.  The  last  work  of  her  life  —  and 


ANN*,  SARAH,  AND  EMILY  HUDSON. 


307 


one  which  she  accomplished  in  the  midst  of  overwhelming 
family  cares,  and  under  the  pressure  of  declining  health  — 
was  a  series  of  Sunday  cards,  each  accompanied  with 
a  short  hymn  adapted  to  the  leading  subject  of  the 
card.  .  .  . 

“Her  acquaintance  with,  and  attachment  to,  the  Bur¬ 
mese  Bible  were  rather  extraordinary.  She  professed  to 
take  more  pleasure  and  derive  more  profit  from  the  perusal 
of  that  translation  than  from  the  English,  and  to  enjoy 
preaching  in  the  native  chapel  more  than  in  any  other.” 

As  teacher,  scholar,  mother,  and  wife,  Mrs.  Judson  has 
left  a  fragrant  and  enduring  memory ;  a  woman  rising 
above  obstacles,  using  her  time  to  remarkable  advantage ; 
gentle  yet  fearless  in  her  work.  “The  most  finished  and 
faultless  specimen  of  an  American  woman,”  said  her  Eng¬ 
lish  friends  in  Calcutta,  “  that  they  had  ever  known.” 

Dr.  Judson  reached  Boston  Oct.  15, 1845,  in  feeble  health, 
with  his  three  motherless  children.  lie  found  homes,  and 
churches,  and  colleges,  all  eager  to  see  and  hear  him. 
Everywhere,  and  at  all  times,  he  showed  the  same  devotion 
to  missions.  When,  at  a  convention  held  in  New  York 
City,  it  was  proposed  to  abandon  the  Arracan  Mission, 
he  rose  to  his  feet,  and,  though  unable  to  speak  above  a 
whisper,  said  :  “  Though  forbidden  to  speak  by  my  medi¬ 
cal  adviser,  I  must  say  a  few  words.  I  must  protest 
against  the  abandonment  of  the  Arracan  Mission.  .  .  . 
If  the  convention  think  my  services  can  be  dispensed  with 
in  finishing  my  dictionary,  I  will  go  immediately  to  Arra¬ 
can  ;  or,  if  God  should  spare  my  life  to  finish  my  diction¬ 
ary,  I  will  go  there  afterward  and  labor  there,  and  die, 
and  be  buried  there.”  These  words  were  repeated  to  the 
audience  by  Dr.  Cone.  The  mission  was  not  abandoned. 

Years  before,  when  he  had  received  nearly  four  thou- 


308 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMAXHOOD. 


sand  dollars  for  his  work  for  the  government,  in  the 
treaty  at  Ava,  and  as  a  diplomat,  he  gave  all  the  money 
to  the  mission.  Ilis  private  property  he  gave  also  to  the 
mission.  Though  he  said  that  he  and  others  received 
“  less  than  any  English  missionaries  of  any  denomination, 
in  any  part  of  the  East,”  he  lessened  his  yearly  allowance 
from  the  Board  Ijy  one  quarter. 

His  son  Edward,  in  his  father’s  Life,  tells  this  amusing 
incident :  “  The  railroad  system  had  sprung  into  existence 
during  his  absence.  He  entered  the  cars  at  Worcester 
one  day,  and  had  just  taken  his  seat,  when  a  boy  came 
along  with  the  daily  newspapers.  He  said  to  Mr.  Judson, 
‘Do  you  want  a  paper,  sir?’  ‘  Yes,  thank  you,’  the  mis¬ 
sionary  replied  ;  and,  taking  the  paper,  began  to  read.  The 
newsboy  stood  waiting  for  his  pay,  until  a  lady  passenger, 
occupying  the  same  seat  with  Mr.  Judson,  said  to  him? 
4  The  boy  expects  to  be  paid  for  his  paper.’  4  Why  !  ’  re¬ 
plied  the  missionary,  with  the  utmost  surprise.  4 1  have 
been  distributing  papers  gratuitously  in  Burma  so  long 
that  I  had  no  idea  the  boy  was  expecting  any  pay.’  ” 

In  January,  1846,  Dr.  Judson  met  in  Philadelphia  Miss 
Emily  Chubbock,  then  known  in  the  literary  world  as 
44  Fanny  Forester.”  He  wished  some  competent  Christian 
person  to  write  a  life  of  Sarah  Boardman  Judson,  as  the 
Rev.  James  D.  Knowles,  of  Boston,  had  written  one  of 
Ann  Hasseltine  Judson.  Miss  Chubbock  was  well  fitted 
for  the  work,  undertook  it,  and  it  was  published  two  years 
later,  soon  having  a  sale  of  twenty-eight  thousand  copies. 

Emily  Clmbbock’s  history  had  been  an  interesting  one. 
She  was  born,  Aug.  22,  1817,  in  Eaton,  in  the  central  part 
of  New  York  State,  whither  her  parents  had  removed  from 
New  Hampshire,  the  same  State  in  which  Sarah  Boardman 
was  born.  Thev  had  been  in  comfortable  circumstances, 


EMILY  C  JUDSON. 


AYY,  SAB  An,  AND  EMILY  JUDSOY.  309 


but  having  lost  their  money,  the  father  never  seemed  able 
again  to  win  support  for  his  family.  Emily’s  mother  was 
a  woman  of  fine  intellect,  with  the  will-power  and  sagacity 
which  the  father  seemed  to  lack. 

Emily  was  a  delicate  child,  the  fiflh  in  a  large  family. 
At  the  early  age  of  eleven  she  was  working  in  a  woollen 
factory,  earning  one  dollar  and  twrenty-five  cents  a  week. 
“My  principal  recollections  during  this  summer,”  she 
wrote  afterwards,  “  are  of  noise  and  filth,  bleeding  hands 
and  aching  feet,  and  a  very  sad  heart.” 

She  worked  twelve  hours  a  day,  —  too  long  for  either 
child  or  adult,  —  “and,”  she  wrote,  “came  home  com¬ 
pletely  worn  out  with  fatigue.”  One  May  day,  when  she 
Avas  twelve  years  old,  the  carding-machine  broke,  and  she, 
having  the  afternoon  to  herself,  used  all  her  money  in 
hiring  a  horse  and  wagon  to  take  her  sick  sister,  Lavinia, 
out  driving.  “  We  spread  a  buffalo-robe  on  a  pretty,  dry 
knoll,  and  father  carried  her  to  it  in  his  arms.  I  shall 
never  forget  how  happy  she  was,  nor  how  Kate  and  I 
almost  buried  her  in  violets  and  other  wild  spring  flowers. 
It  was  the  last  time  that  she  ever  went  out.” 

When  Emily  was  thirteen  she  saw  in  the  “Baptist 
Kegister  ”  the  words,  “Little  Maria  lies  by  the  side  of 
her  fond  mother.”  She  knew  at  once  that  Mrs.  Ann  H. 
Judson  was  dead,  and  she  pitied  Dr.  Judson  in  his  loneli¬ 
ness.  She  even  made  up  her  mind  to  be  a  missionary 
herself,  though  it  seemed  like  a  far-off  possibility. 

She  says  :  “  We  suffered  a  great  deal  from  cold  this  winter, 
though  we  had  plenty  of  plain  food.  Indeed,  we  never  were 
reduced  to  hunger.  But  the  house  was  large  and  unfinished, 
and  the  snow  sometimes  drifted  into  it  in  heaps.  We 
were  unable  to  repair  it,  and  the  owner  was  unwilling. 
Father  was  absent  nearly  all  the  time  distributing  news- 


310 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


papers,”  —  one  can  but  respect  a  man  who  is  willing  to 
work  to  the  uttermost,  at  any  occupation  however  menial, 
to  help  care  for  the  children  whom  he  has  brought  into  the 
world,  —  “and  the  severity  of  the  winter  so  affected  his 
health  that  he  could  do  but  little  when  he  was  at  home. 
Mother,  Harriet,  and  T  were  frequently  compelled  to  go 
out  into  the  fields  and  dig  broken  wood  out  of  the  snow 
to  keep  ourselves  from  freezing.  Catharine  and  I  went 
to  the  district  school  as  much  as  we  could.” 

They  now  moved  to  a  farm,  partly  on  account  of  the 
poor  health  of  Emily.  Mr.  Chubbock’s  experiment  at 
farming  proved  a  complete  failure,  and  they  moved  back 
to  the  village  into  a  poor  shelter,  with  two  rooms  below 
and  a  loft  above,  reached  by  means  of  a  ladder.  Emily 
got  employment  of  a  Scotch  weaver  at  twisting  thread,  and 
the  others  took  in  sewing,  or  tried  to  earn  a  living  in 
various  ways. 

Finally,  the  slight  girl  of  fifteen,  who  seems  to  have  had 
a  large  part  of  the  energy  of  the  family,  obtained  a  posi¬ 
tion  as  school-teacher  at  seventy-five  cents  a  week, 
with  the  not  altogether  enjoyable  feature  of  “  boarding 
round.”  The  young,  enthusiastic  teacher  was  much 
liked.  She  taught  in  the  neighboring  towns  till  she  was 
twenty. 

There  were,  of  course,  home  troubles:  “failure  in 
stage-coach  business.  The  family  removed  to  Hamilton, 
but  returned  in  the  spring;  home  lost;  horses,  coaches, 
etc.,  seized  and  sold  at  auction.”  Her  father  seems  to 
have  made  the  mistake  of  thousands  of  men  who  prefer  to 
do  business  for  themselves  ou  small  capital  rather  than 
work  for  others  on  a  limited  salary,  the  latter  often  being 
a  hundred  times  more  conducive  to  the  happiness  and  com¬ 
fort  of  wife  and  children.  Mrs.  Chubboek,  crushed  with 


ANN,  SABAH,  AND  EMILY  JUDSON. 


311 


this  constant  failure,  and  care,  had  brain-fever  and  inflam¬ 
mation  of  the  lungs. 

Emily  C'hubboek,  besides  teaching  a  hundred  pupils,  was 
studying  Greek  with  a  student  in  the  theological  semi¬ 
nary,  and  mathematics  with  a  minister,  writing  poetry  and 
prose  for  the  village  newspapers,  and  showing  an  ability 
that  surprised  and  delighted  all  avIio  knew  her.  She  said 
to  a  friend  at  this  time ;  “  I  have  felt  ever  since  I  read  the 
memoir  of  Mrs.  Ann  II.  Judson,  when  I  was  a  mere  child, 
that  I  must  become  a  missionary.  I  fear  it  is  but  a  childish 
fancy,  and  am  making  every  effort  to  banish  it  from  my 
mind  ;  yet  the  more  I  seek  to  divert  my  thoughts  from  it, 
the  more  unhappy  I  am.”  One  recalls  how'  the  life  of 
Samuel  J.  Mills  influenced  Sarah  Hall  in  her  missionary 
desires;  who  shall  estimate  the  power  of  a  book? 

Finally,  friendship  did  for  Emily  Chubbock  what  it  can 
often  do,  if  we  only  think  for  others  instead  of  selfishly 
living  for  ourselves.  What  are  we  in  the  world  for  if  not 
to  use  our  thoughts,  our  eyes,  our  hands,  and  our  money 
to  help  others  ? 

Miss  Allen,  of  Morrisville,  where  Emily  had  taught,  had 
become  her  friend.  When  the  former  vent  to  the  then 
well-known  Utica  Seminary,  she  told  the  principal,  Miss 
Sheldon,  of  the  girl  who  was  struggling  for  an  education. 
Miss  Sheldon  at  once  proposed  to  Emily  to  spend  two  or 
three  years  at  her  seminary,  and  pay  for  it  by  subsequent 
teaching.  This  proposition  was  gladly  accepted. 

“  She  was  at  this  time,”  says  a  friend,  “  a  frail,  slen¬ 
der  creature,  shrinking  with  nervous  timidity  from  ob 
servation  ;  yet  her  quiet  demeanor,  noiseless  step,  low' 
voice,  earnest  and  observant  glance  of  the  eye,  awakened 
at  once  interest  and  attention.  .  .  .  Miss  Chubbock  had 
a  heart  full  of  sympathy;  and  no  grief  was  too  causeless, 


312 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


no  source  of  annoyance  too  slight,  for  her  not  to  endeavor 
to  remove  them.  She  therefore  soon  became  a  favorite 
with  the  younger,  as  with  the  older  and  more  appreciative 
scholars.  Her  advice  was  asked,  her  opinions  sought,  and 
her  taste  consulted.” 

Through  the  kindness  of  Mr.  Hawley,  of  a  bookselling 
firm  in  Utica,  a  publisher  in  New  York  City  agreed  to 
bring  out  a  little  volume  for  Emily  of  one  hundred  and 
twelve  pages,  “  Charles  Linn  ;  or,  How  to  Observe  the 
Golden  Rule  ”  :  a  book  for  children.  She  wras  to  receive 
ten  per  cent  of  the  net  price  of  the  books,  and  to  be  paid 
twice  a  year. 

For  the  first  edition,  of  fifteen  hundred,  sold  in  eleven 
weeks,  she  received  fifty-one  dollars.  All  authors  know 
how  rejoiced  the  young  teacher’s  heart  must  have  been. 

She  was  working  far  beyond  her  strength.  Prof.  A.  C. 
Kendrick,  in  his  “  Life  of  Emily  Chubbock,”  says  :  “With 
throbbing  head  and  tingling  nerves  and  an  aching  heart  she 
sat  down  to  her  papers,  and  it  was  only  by  sending  her 
thoughts  away  to  the  humble  roof  which  sheltered  those 
who  were  dearer  to  her  than  life,  and  reflecting  on  the 
sweetness  of  ministering  to  their  wants,  that  she  could 
spur  her  flagging  energies  to  their  work.  .  .  . 

“As  Miss  Sheldon  was  at  one  time  passing,  near  mid¬ 
night,  through  the  halls,  a  light  streaming  from  Emily’s 
apartment  attracted  her  attention,  and  softly  opening  the 
door,  she  stole  in  upon  her  vigils.  Emily  sat  in  her  night¬ 
dress,  her  papers  lying  outspread  before  her,  grasping  with 
both  hands  her  throbbing  temples,  and  pale  as  a  marble 
statue.  Miss  Sheldon  went  to  her,  whispered  words  of 
sympathy,  and  gently  chided  her  for  robbing  her  system 
of  its  needed  repose.  Emily’s  heart  was  already  full,  and 
now  the  fountain  of  feeling  overflowed  in  uncontrollable 


ANN,  SARAH,  AND  EMILY  JUDSON. 


313 


weeping.  ‘  O  Miss  Sheldon  !  ’  she  exclaimed  ;  ‘  I  must 
write,  I  must  write  ;  I  must  do  what  I  can  to  aid  my  poor 
parents.’  ” 

She  wrote  her  sister  Kate  :  “  Miss  Sheldon  has  given 
me  some  slips  of  geranium,  but  I  am  afraid  they  will  die, 
because  I  cannot  get  any  jars  to  put  them  in.  If  they 
live,  I  will  bring  them  to  you.  I  could  get  pretty  flower¬ 
pots  for  eighteen  cents  apiece.  O  Poverty,  how  vexatious 
thou  art ! ” 

“  The  Great  Secret;  or,  How  to  be  Happy,”  soon  fol¬ 
lowed;  then  “  Effie  Maurice,”  “Allen  Lucas;  or,  The 
Self-made  Man,”  and  some  other  Sunday-school  books. 

The  income  was  comparatively  little,  but  Emily  at  once 
bought  for  her  parents,  in  Hamilton,  a  small  house  and 
garden  for  four  hundred  dollars,  and  hoped  that  her  brain 
and  health  would  last  till  it  was  paid  for.  She  wrote  to  a 
friend,  “There  is  nothing  like  coining  one’s  brain  into 
gold  —  no,  bread  —  to  make  the  heart  grow  sick.” 

While  on  a  visit  to  New  York,  when  she  was  twenty- 
seven,  she  wrote  a  bright  letter  to  the  Evening  Mirror , 
then  edited  by  George  P.  Morris  and  N.  P.  Willis,  sign¬ 
ing  the  letter  “  Fanny  Forester.”  The  letter  pleased  Mr. 
Willis,  and  lie  gladly  accepted  her  sketches. 

At  once  people  began  to  ask  about  the  new  and  sprightly 
author.  Magazine  editors  wrote,  seeking  her  productions 
at  the  highest  prices  then  paid.  They  had  returned  them 
to  her,  or  let  them  lie  for  months  unnoticed  and  unanswered, 
before  Mr.  Willis  “  discovered  ”  her.  It  is  gratifying 
that  every  now  and  then  there  is  au  editor  like  Mr.  Willis, 
who  “  discovers  ”  genius.  Though  she  never  met  Mr. 
Willis  but  once,  she*  always  felt  the  deepest  gratitude  for 
his  kindness  and  appreciation.  “I  shall  goon  glorifying 
you  in  our  new  daily  paper,”  he  wrote  her,  “  until  the  maga- 


314 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


zine  people  give  you  fifty  dollars  an  article,”  —  and  so  he 
did. 

When  fame  came,  health  failed.  Emily  Chubbock  had 
struggled  long  for  recognition,  and  now  the  frail  body  was 
too  weak  for  its  added  work.  She  was  invited  to  the 
house  of  a  minister,  Dr.  Gillette,  of  Philadelphia,  a  friend 
of  Miss  Sheldon’s,  though  a  stranger  to  her,  to  see  if  the 
mild  climate  and  rest  would  not  restore  the  waning  life. 

She  partially  regained  her  health,  and  brought  out  sev¬ 
eral  of  her  magazine  sketches  on  her  return  to  Utica,  in  a 
book  entitled,  “  Trippings  in  Author  Land.”  The  book 
was  heartily  welcomed.  Her  taste,  her  powers  of  reason¬ 
ing,  her  sense  of  humor,  her  refinement,  her  graphic 
descriptions,  were  everywhere  talked  about.  When  she 
spent  the  following  winter  with  the  family  of  Dr. 
Gillette,  all  doors  were  opened  to  her,  and  a  new  life 
seemed,  indeed,  begun. 

But  other  paths  were  opening  to  her.  Dr.  Judson  was 
on  his  way  to  Philadelphia  to  attend  some  missionary 
meetings,  and  was  to  be  escorted  thither  from  Boston  by 
Dr.  Gillette.  On  their  way,  a  slight  accident  detaining 
them  for  two  or  three  hours,  Dr.  Gillette,  seeing  that  a 
friend  had  the  newly  published  “Trippings  in  Author 
Land,”  borrowed  it  and  handed  it  to  Dr.  Judson.  He 
took  it  hesitatingly,  as  the  title  seemed  to  him  rather 
frivolous,  but  was  soon  charmed  by  the  grace  of  the  style, 
and  vivacity  of  the  writer. 

Handing  back  the  book,  he  said  that  it  was  written  with 
great  beauty  and  power.  He  asked  if  the  author  was  a 
Christian,  and  said,  “I  should  be  glad  to  know  her.  A 
lady  who  writes  so  well  ought  to  write  better.  It  is  a  pity 
that  such  fine  talents  should  be  employed  upon  such  sub¬ 
jects.” 


ANN,  SAEAH,  AND  EMIL  Y  JUDSON. 


315 


Upon  being  told  that  he  would  soon  meet  her,  as  she 
was  a  guest  at  the  Gillette  home,  he  asked,  “  Is  she  a 
Baptist?”  and  was  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

The  next  morning  the  devoted  and  scholarly  missionary 
of  fifty-seven  met  the  refined  and  charming  author  of 
twenty-eight.  He  was  pleased  with  her  intellect  and 
sympathetic  nature ;  she  admired  his  mind  and  his  devo¬ 
tion  to  his  work.  As  the  acquaintance  grew,  both  loved 
each  other  with  an  ardor  that  not  even  death  could 
quench.  Neither  did  he  forget  the  two  noble  women 
who  had  blessed  his  life  already. 

The  letters  which  passed  between  Dr.  Judson  and  Emily 
after  they  were  betrothed  to  each  other,  while  they  show 
great  depth  of  affection  on  the  part  of  each,  show  no  for¬ 
getting  of  the  departed.  He  writes  from  Boston:  “I 
have  just  been  having  a  good  cry  here  alone,  in  Mr. 
Colby’s  chamber,  about  my  poor  dear  children.  I  left 
the  two  boys  yesterday  crying  as  they  set  off  in  the  cars 
for  Worcester.  Abby  Ann  I  took  on  to  Bradford,  and 
this  morning  I  left  her  crying  at  the  Hasseltines’.  And 
thoughts  of  the  children  bear  my  mind  to  their  departed 
mother,  and  I  review  the  scenes  on  board  the  ‘  Sophia 
Walker’  and  at  St.  Helena.  And  then  I  stretch  away  to 
my  two  little  forsaken  orphans  in  Burma ;  and  then  I  turn 
to  you,  whom  I  love  not  less,  though  but  a  recent  acquaint¬ 
ance.” 

And  Miss  Chubbock  writes  back  :  “I  am  longing  to 
see  the  little  darlings.  And,  dearest,  my  own  dearest, 
best  friend,  God  helping  me,  they  shall  never  feel  the 
loss  of  the  sainted  one.  Do  not  call  them  ‘  orphans’  any 
more.  I  will  love  them  and  watch  over  them,  and  when 
I  fail  in  anything  you  will  point  out  the  faults  and  teach 
me  better.”  And  when  she  had  become  Emily  Judson, 
she  kept  nobly  her  promise. 


316 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Death  had  come  so  often  to  Dr.  Judson  that  he  almost 
feared  it  again  :  “And  must  this  face  ever  become  settled,” 
he  writes  her,  “  cold,  lifeless,  like  those  other  faces  that  I 
once  feasted  on  ?  And  must  I  again  press  down  the  stif¬ 
fening  eyelids  on  the  extinguished  orbs  of  love?” 

The  world  did  not  favor  the  marriage.  Many  friends 
even  could  not  believe  that  a  writer  of  fiction  was  suited 
to  be  a  missionary’s  wife,  and  they  felt  sure  that  to  place 
a  brilliant  author  in  desolate  India  was  a  sacrifice  too  great 
to  be  thought  of. 

But  “  Fanny  Forester”  wrote  to  her  friends  :  “  I  am  a 
great  admirer  of  greatness  —  real,  genuine  greatness  ;  and 
goodness  has  an  influence  which  I  have  not  the  power  to 
resist.  ...  I  would  go  with  him  the  world  over.  There 
is  a  noble  structure  within,  singularly  combining  delicacy 
and  strength,  which  will  afford  me  protection  and  shelter 
in  this  world, — -a  place  where  my  own  weak  nature  may 
rest  itself  securely,  —  a  thing  that  never  will  grow  old,  and 
that  I  shall  love  in  eternity.  So  3*011  see  that  in  going  to 
Burma  I  make  no  sacrifices  ;  for  the  things  that  I  resign, 
though  more  show}*,  are  not  half  as  dear  to  me  as  those 
which  I  gain.” 

Dr.  Judson  was  not  moved  b}7  all  the  adverse  comment, 
and  when  Emily  wrote,  “  I  dread  the  coming  of  something 
that  ma}7  separate  us,  or  make  11s  less  happy  in  each  other,” 
he  replied,  “  I  wonder  whether  3*011  think  that  anything  I 
hear  or  can  hear  will  ever  make  me  regret  the  blessed 
Providence  that  carried  me  to  Delaware  12th,  or  feel  un¬ 
grateful  for  your  kind  love,  which  has  allowed  m}7  spirit 
to  mingle  with  }*ours  in  a  union  which  neither  time  nor 
death  can  ever  dissolve.  .  .  . 

“  I  have  been  so  cried  down  at  different  periods  of  my 
life  —  especiall}*  when  I  became  a  Baptist,  and  lost  all,  all 


ANN,  SARAH,  ANU  EMIL  Y  JUDSON. 


317 


but  Ann  —  that  I  suppose  I  am  a  little  hardened.  But  I 
feel  for  you,  for  it  is  your  first  field.  Whatever  of  strength  4 
or  shield  is  mine,  or  I  can  draw  down  from  Heaven,  is 
yours.” 

The  copyright  of  “Trippings”  was  purchased  from  the 
publisher,  and  Ticknor,  Read  &  Fields,  of  Boston,  brought 
out  the  work  in  two  handsome  volumes,  under  the  title  of 
“  Alderbrook.” 

Dr.  Judson  and  Emily  Chubbock  were  married  June  2, 
1846,  and  July  11  they  sailed  from  Boston,  many  friends 
coming  to  say  good-by,  among  them  the  slender  boy  of 
eighteen,  George  Dana  Boardman,  whom  his  mother  had 
so  longed  to  see  once  more  before  she  died,  at  St.  Helena. 

They  were  four  months  on  the  journey  to  Maulmain. 
In  passing  the  island  of  St.  Helena,  Dr.  Judson  thought 
of  Sarah  Boardman,  and  said,  “Farewell,  rock  of  the 
ocean  !  I  thank  thee  that  thou  hast  given  me  a  ‘  place 
where  I  might  bury  my  dead.’”  And  when  the  promon¬ 
tory  of  Amherst  loomed  in  sight  lie  discerned  with  a 
small  telescope  on  the  greeu  bank  “the  small  enclosure 
which  contains  the  sleeping-place  of  my  dear  Ann  and  her 
daughter,  Maria.” 

And  when  later  he  was  absent  from  home  for  a  time  he 
wrote  to  his  wife,  “  Here  we  lie,  with  Amherst  in  sight 
from  my  cabin  window, —  Amherst,  whither  I  brought 
Ann,  and  returned  to  find  her  grave;  Amherst,  whither 
I  brought  Sarah,  on  returning  from  my  matrimonial  tour 
to  Tavoy,  and  whence  I  took  her  away  in  the  1  Paragon  ’ 
to  return  no  more ;  Amherst,  the  terminus  of  my  long 
voyage  in  the  ‘  Faneuil  Hall  ’  with  Emily.  The  place 
seems  like  the  centre  of  many  radii  of  my  past  ex¬ 
istence.  .  .  . 

“  I  seem  to  have  lived  in  several  worlds  ;  but  you  are 


318 


FA  MO  US  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


the  earthly  sun  that  illuminates  my  present.  My  thoughts 
and  affections  revolve  around  you,  and  cling  to  your  form 
and  face  and  lips.  Other  luminaries  have  been  extin¬ 
guished  by  death.  T  think  of  them  -with  mournful  de¬ 
light,  and  anticipate  the  time  when  we  shall  all  shine  to¬ 
gether  as  the  brightness  of  the  firmament  and  as  the  stars 
for  ever  and  ever.” 

What  wonder  that  a  man  who  could  love  earnestly,  yet 
not  forget,  was  a  kind  and  thoughtful  husband  !  Mrs. 
Judson  wrote  long  after:  “He  was  always  planning 
pleasant  little  surprises  for  his  family  and  neighbors, 
and  kept  up  through  married  life  those  little  lover-like 
attentions  which  I  believe  husbands  are  apt  to  forget.  .  .  . 
If  he  went  out  before  I  was  awake  in  the  morning,  very 
likely  some  pretty  message  would  be  pinned  to  my  mos¬ 
quito  curtain.  If  he  was  obliged  to  stay  at  a  business 
meeting,  or  any  such  place,  longer  than  he  thought  I  ex¬ 
pected,  some  little  pencilled  line  that  he  could  trace  with¬ 
out  attracting  attention  would  be  despatched  to  me.  .  .  . 
He  was  always  earnest,  enthusiastic,  sympathizing,  even 
in  the  smallest  trifles  ;  tender,  delicate,  and  considerate  — 
never  moody.” 

Dr.  Judson  and  his  wife  were  met  by  warm  hearts  at 
Maulmain.  The  natives  scrambled  up  the  sides  of  the 
vessel,  and  could  scarcely  wait  to  clasp  the  hand  of  the 
missionary. 

Mrs.  Judson  took  the  two  motherless  children,  Henry 
and  Edward,  to  her  heart.  “  I  do  love  the  dear  children 
that  a  saint  in  heaven  has  left  me,”  she  wrote  home  to 
America.  ‘  ‘  I  love  them  for  their  own  sakes  ;  for  sweeter, 
more  lovely  little  creatures  never  breathed  ;  brighter,  more 
beautiful  blossoms  never  expanded  in  the  cold  atmosphere 
of  this  world.  .  .  .  Edward  is  the  loveliest  child  that  I 


ANN,  SARAH,  AND  EMILY  JUDSON. 


319 


ever  saw ;  there  is  something  which  seems  to  me  angelic  in 
his  patience  and  calmness.” 

Dr.  Judson  wrote  to  his  sister  that  “  Emily  makes  one 
of  the  best  wives  and  kindest  mothers  to  the  children  that 
ever  man  was  blessed  with  ”  ;  and  to  his  boys  in  America, 
that  his  wife  had  just  put  their  little  brothers  in  bed,  and 
that  “  Henry  is  singing  and  talking  aloud  to  himself ;  and 
what  do  you  think  he  is  saying?  ‘  My  own  mamma  went 
away,  away  in  a  boat.  And  then  she  got  wings  and  went 
up.  And  Charlie,  too,  went  up,  and  they  are  flying  above 
the  moon  and  the  stars.’  ” 

Dr.  Judson  determined  to  try  again  if  Burmese  intoler¬ 
ance  could  not  be  overcome,  and  moved  his  family  from 
Maulmain  to  Rangoon.  They  hired  the  upper  part  of  a 
brick  house,  which  Mrs.  Judson  called  “  Bat  Castle.” 
Maulmain  had  not  been  altogether  a  perfect  abode,  when, 
as  Mrs.  Judson  wrote,  “  Frogs  hop  from  my  sleeves  when 
I  put  them  on,  and  lizards  drop  from  the  ceiling  to  the 
table  when  we  are  eating  ” ;  and  the  floors  were  black  with 
ants  ;  but  Rangoon  was  far  less  desirable. 

She  wrote  to  her  sister  Kitty :  “The  floor  overhead  is 
quite  low,  and  the  beams,  which  are  frequent,  afford  shelter 
to  thousands  and  thousands  of  bats,  that  disturb  us  in  the 
daytime  only  by  a  little  cricket-like  music,  but  in  the 
night,  —  oh,  if  you  could  only  hear  them  carouse !  .  .  . 
We  have  had  men  at  work  nearly  a  week  trying  to  thin 
them  out,  and  have  killed  a  great  many  hundreds.  .  .  . 
Besides  the  bats,  we  are  blessed  with  our  full  share  of 
cockroaches,  beetles,  spiders,  lizards,  rats,  ants,  mosqui¬ 
toes,  and  bedbugs.  With  the  last,  the  wood-work  is  all 
alive,  and  the  ants  troop  over  the  house  in  great  droves, 
though  there  are  scattering  ones  besides.  Perhaps  twenty 
have  crossed  my  paper  since  I  have  been  writing.  Only 


320 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


one  cockroach  has  paid  me  a  visit,  but  the  neglect  of  these 
gentlemen  has  been  fully  made  up  by  a  company  of  black 
bugs,  about  the  size  of  the  end  of  your  little  finger, 
nameless  adventurers.” 

Despite  all  this,  the  missionaries  worked  on  unceas¬ 
ingly,  Dr.  Judson  preaching  and  preparing  his  great  Bur¬ 
mese  dictionary,  two  volumes,  containing  over  one  thou¬ 
sand  pages,  and  Mrs.  Judson  learning  the  language, 
conducting  prayer-meetings,  caring  for  her  children,  “  and 
so,  so  happy  in  each  other;  ten  times  happier  than  if 
in  America  in  a  palace  ”  —  “a  deliciously  happy  family,” 
Dr.  Judson  wrote  to  his  daughter  Abby.  After  seven 
months,  the  appropriations  for  Indian  missions  having  been 
curtailed,  they  returned  to  Maulmain,  where  their  house, 
in  which  all  their  best  clothing  and  most  valuable  goods 
were  kept,  had  been  burned,  with  all  its  contents ;  but 
Dr.  Judson  said,  “The  Lord  gave  and  the  Lord  hath 
taken  away;  blessed  be  / lie  name  of  the  Lord!” 

On  Dec.  24,  1847,  Emily  Frances  was  born  to  Mrs. 
Judson,  whose  welcome  the  mother  has  so  beautifully  sung 
in  “  My  Bird  ”  :  — 

“  Ere  last  year’s  moon  had  left  the  sky, 

A  birdling  sought  my  Indian  nest, 

And  folded,  Oh,  so  lovingly! 

Her  tiny  wings  upon  my  breast. 

“  From  morn  till  evening’s  purple  tinge 
In  winsome  helplessness  she  lies; 

Two  rose  leaves,  with  a  silken  fringe, 

Shut  softly  on  her  starry  eyes. 

“  There ’s  not  in  Ind  a  lovelier  bird; 

Broad  earth  owns  not  a  happier  nest; 

O  God !  Thou  hast  a  fountain  stirred, 

Whose  waters  never  more  shall  rest. 


ANN,  SABAH ,  AND  EMILY  JUDSON. 


321 


“  This  beautiful,  mysterious  thing, 

This  seeming  visitant  from  heaven, 

This  bird  with  the  immortal  wing, 

To  me,  to  me,  Thy  hand  has  given. 

“  The  pulse  first  caught  its  tiny  stroke, 

The  blood  its  crimson  hue,  from  mine,  — 

This  life  which  I  have  dared  invoke, 

Henceforth  is  parallel  witli  Thine. 

“  A  silent  awe  is  in  my  room ; 

I  tremble  with  delicious  fear ; 

The  future  with  its  light  and  gloom,  — 

Time  and  Eternity  are  here. 

“Doubts,  hopes,  in  eager  tumult  rise; 

Hear,  O  my  God !  one  earnest  prayer  : 

Room  for  my  bird  in  paradise, 

And  give  her  angel-plumage  there.” 

Dr.  Judson  wrote  to  Abby,  “Emily  Frances  is  the 
sweetest  little  fairy  you  ever  saw.”  Somewhat  later  Mrs. 
Judson  became  very  ill,  and  fears  were  entertained  of  her 
death.  The  children,  too,  became  ill.  In  helping  to  care 
for  them,  Dr.  Judson  took  a  severe  cold,  and  broke  down 
so  rapidly  that  a  sea  voyage  seemed  the  only  possible  re¬ 
storative.  His  wife  accompanied  him  to  Amherst,  where 
they  spent  a  month,  but  he  did  not  improve. 

He  longed  to  live  to  complete  his  dictionary.  “People  will 
call  it  a  strange  providence,”  he  said,  “  if  I  do  not  live  to 
finish  my  dictionary.  But  to  me  it  will  be  a  strange  provi¬ 
dence  if  I  do.  Men  almost  always  leave  some  work,  that 
they  or  their  friends  consider  vastly  important,  unfinished. 
It  is  a  way  God  has  of  showing  us  what  really  worthless 
creatures  we  are,  and  how  altogether  unnecessary,  as 
active  agents,  in  the  working  out  of  his  plans.”  He  did 


3  22 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


not  live  to  finish  his  dictionary,  and  other  hands  completed 
the  great  work. 

It  was  decided  that  he  should  take  a  longer  sea  voyage, 
and  so  he  embarked,  April  3,  1850,  on  the  “Aristide 
Marie,”  bound  for  the  Isle  of  France.  He  could  not  bear 
to  leave  his  family,  and  often  said,  “  Oh,  if  it  were  only  the 
will  of  God  to  take  me  now,  —  to  let  me  die  here  !  I  can¬ 
not,  cannot  go.  This  is  almost  more  than  I  can  bear  ”  ; 
and  yet  his  face  would  brighten  as  he  repeated,  “  Oh,  the 
love  of  Christ !  the  love  of  Christ !  We  cannot  under¬ 
stand  it  now,  —  but  what  a  beautiful  study  for  eternity  !  ” 

Again,  he  said,  when  told  by  his  wife  that  it  was  the 
opinion  of  the  mission  that  he  would  not  recover,  “  I  know 
it  is,  and  I  suppose  they  think  me  an  old  man,  and  imagine 
it  is  nothing  for  one  like  me  to  resign  a  life  so  full  of 
trials.  But  I  am  not  old,  at  least  in  that  sense;  you  know 
I  am  not.  Oh,  no  man  ever  left  this  world  with  more  in¬ 
viting  prospects,  with  brighter  hopes  or  warmer  feelings  — 
warmer  feelings  ”  ;  and  he  burst  into  tears. 

“It  is  not  because  I  shrink  from  death  that  I  wish  to 
live,  neither  is  it  because  the  ties  that  bind  me  here,  though 
some  of  them  are  very  sweet,  bear  any  comparison  with 
the  drawings  I  at  times  feel  towards  heaven  ;  but  a  few 
years  would  not  be  missed  from  my  eternity  of  bliss,  and 
I  can  well  afford  to  spare  them,  both  for  your  sake  and  for 
the  sake  of  the  poor  Burmans.  I  am  not  tired  of  my  work, 
neither  am  I  tired  of  the  world  :  yet,  when  Christ  calls  me 
home,  I  shall  go  with  the  gladness  of  a  boy  bounding  away 
from  his  school.  .  .  .  I  am  ready  to  go  to-day,  if  it  should 
be  the  will  of  God,  —  this  very  hour  ;  but  I  am  not  anxious 
to  die.” 

The  “Aristide  Marie  ”  did  not  sail  till  Monday,  April  8, 
five  days  after  Dr.  Judson  had  embarked.  His  wife  was 


ANN,  SABAH,  AND  EMILY  JUDSON. 


323 


unable  to  accompany  Jiim.  On  Wednesday  evening,  a 
friend  said,  “  I  hope  you  feel  that  Christ  is  now  near,  sus¬ 
taining  you.”  “Oh,  yes!”  he  replied ;  u  it  is  all  right 
there.” 

On  Friday  afternoon,  April  12,  he  said,  in  Burmese,  to 
a  servant,  “It  is  done;  I  am  going.  .  .  •  Take  care  of 
poor  mistress.”  lie  died  at  a  quarter  past  four. 

A  strong  plank  cofliu  was  soon  constructed,  sand  was 
poured  in  to  make  it  sink,  and  at  eight  o’clock  the  crew 
assembled,  and,  in  perfect  silence,  the  body  was  committed 
to  the  sea,  in  latitude  thirteen  degrees  north,  and  longitude 
ninety-three  degrees  east,  three  days  out  of  sight  of  the 
mountains  of  Burma. 

A  man  of  devoted  piety,  rare  scholarship,  sunny  nature, 
and  indomitable  will,  Dr.  Judson  wrought  a  wonderful 
work  in  his  lifetime ;  a  work  that  has  gone  on  in  an  ever- 
increasing  ratio  since  his  death.  When  he  died  there 
were  sixty-three  churches  among  the  Burmans  and  the 
Karens,  under  the  charge  of  one  hundred  and  sixty-three 
missionaries,  native  pastors  and  assistants,  with  seven 
thousand  native  Christians.  The  Rev.  J.  E.  Clough,  D.  D., 
of  the  Telugu  Mission  in  southeastern  India,  a  people 
numbering  eighteen  millions,  says  in  the  Independent  for 
May  19,  1892,  of  the  twenty-one  Baptist  mission  sta¬ 
tions  among  the  Burmese,  Karens,  and  Shans,  “  There  are 
about  thirty  thousand  communicants,  with  five  hundred 
churches  and  chapels,  of  which  one  stands  on  the  site  of 
the  prison  of  Ouug-pen-Ia,  where  Dr.  Judson  was  im¬ 
prisoned,  and  where  his  devoted  wife  heroically  struggled 
for  long  months  to  preserve  his  life.” 

Since  Dr.  .Tudson’s  death,  the  American  Board,  the  Bap¬ 
tist  Union,  and  kindred  organizations  in  the  Episcopal, 
Methodist,  and  Presbyterian  churches,  have  grandly  car- 


324 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


ried  on  the  labors  in  which  he  was  the  pioneer.  The 
American  Baptist  Missionary  Union  statistics  for  1891 
show  four  hundred  and  seventeen  missionaries,  two  thou¬ 
sand  and  thirty  native  preachers,  fourteen  hundred  and 
fifty-nine  churches,  and  more  than  one  hundred  and  sixty- 
three  thousand  members,  over  eighteen  thousand  persons 
having  been  baptized  in  1891. 

Mrs.  Judson  did  not  learn  of  her  husband’s  death  till 
four  months  had  passed.  Ten  days  after  his  death,  April 
22,  his  son  Charles  Avas  born,  dying  the  same  day,  of 
whom  his  mother  wrote  in  “  Angel  Charlie  ”  :  — 

“  He  came  —  a  beauteous  vision  — 

Then  vanished  from  my  sight. 

His  wing  one  moment  cleaving 
The  blackness  of  my  night; 

My  glad  ear  caught  the  rustle, 

Then,  sweeping  by,  he  stole 
The  deAV-drop  that  his  coming 
Had  cherished  in  my  soul. 


“  Oh,  I  would  not  recall  thee, 

My  glorious  angel  boy ! 

Thou  needest  not  my  bosom, 

Rare  bird  of  light  and  joy ; 

Here  dash  I  down  the  tear-drops, 
Still  gathering  in  my  eyes ; 

Blest  —  oh  !  hoAV  blest !  —  in  adding 
A  seraph  to  the  skies !  ” 


To  Mrs.  Judson,  as  to  the  world,  the  loss  of  a  man  like 
Dr.  Judson  was  very  great.  She  longed  to  stay  in  Burma, 
“for,”  she  said,  “  my  heart  is  here.  I  loA'e  the  mission¬ 
aries,  love  the  work,  and  love  the  precious  Christians  that 
haAre  been  accustomed  to  gather  round  me  for  prayer  and 


ANN,  SARAH,  AND  EMILY  JUDSON- 


325 


instruction.  They  sobbed  like  so  many  children  when  I 
announced  my  purpose  of  returning.” 

When  failing  health  made  a  change  of  climate  a  neces¬ 
sity,  she  bade  adieu  to  Maulmain,  Jan.  22,  1851,  after  live 
short  years  of  her  married  life,  and,  spending  a  little 
time  in  England,  reached  Boston  in  October  of  the  same 
year,  with  her  three  fatherless  children,  Henry,  Edward, 
and  Emily  Frances. 

She  assisted  Dr.  Wayland  in  preparing  a  life  of  her 
husband,  published  a  little  volume  of  poems,  a  collection 
of  essays,  entitled  “The  Kathavan  Slave,”  its  title  taken 
from  the  first  narrative  in  the  volume ;  a  memorial  of 
Lavinia  and  Harriet  Chubbock,  entitled  “  My  Two  Sis¬ 
ters  ”  ;  and  was  hoping  to  prepare  an  abridged  memoir  of 
her  husband,  for  Sabbath  schools  and  for  the  young. 

But  a  constitution  never  robust  was  breaking  from  its 
early  struggles  with  poverty.  Indeed,  even  now,  many 
were  dependent  upon  her,  and  her  life  was  not  an  easy 
one. 

Toward  the  middle  of  the  year  1854,  consumption  had 
so  wasted  her  vital  forces  that  she  longed  for  rest.  “  It 
is  not,”  she  said,  “  the  pearly  gates  and  golden  streets  of 
heaven  that  attract  me;  it  is  its  perfect  rest  in  the  pres¬ 
ence  of  my  Saviour.  It  will  be  so  sweet,  after  a  life  of 
care  and  toil  like  mine,  though  a  very  pleasant  one  it  has 
been,  and  I  am  only  weary  of  the  care  and  toil  because  I 
have  not  strength  to  endure  them.  This  lack  of  strength  is 
dreadful.  .  .  .  It  is  so  sweet  to  die  at  home.  I  could  not 
bear  the  thought  of  being  buried  elsewhere  than  here,  where 
you  all  will  probably  rest  by  and  by  at  my  side.” 

“  It  is  bright  either  way,”  she  said  to  a  friend,  who 
had  expressed  the  hope  that  God  would  restore  her  to 
health. 


326 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD . 


She  died  June  1,  1854,  in  the  month  of  roses,  as  she  had 
wished,  at  the  early  age  of  thirty-seven.  Though  she 
said,  “There  is  one  who  will  be  inconsolable,”  referring 
to  her  little  Emily,  she  made  no  provision  for  her  in  her 
will  other  than  for  the  rest  of  the  children,  to  whom  she 
had  been  a  loving  mother. 

On  a  simple  headstone,  in  the  cemetery  at  Hamilton, 
N.  Y.,  one  may  read  the  words,  “  Dear  Emily.”  She  had 
been  dear  to  the  lamented  Judson,  dear  to  the  Burmese, 
whose  language  she  spoke  admirably,  writing  many  hymns 
in  their  native  tongue,  and  dear  to  the  tens  of  thousands 
who  appreciated  her  gifted  mind,  and  the  strength  and 
beauty  of  her  character. 


AMELIA  B.  EDWARDS. 


AMELIA  BLANDFORD  EDWARDS. 


URINGr  the  winter  of  1889-90,  at  the  request  of 


twenty-five  college  presidents,  and  such  men  as 
Lowell,  Whittier,  Holmes,  and  Howells,  Miss  Edwards 
came  to  America  to  deliver  a  course  of  lectures  on  Egypt, 
which  she  had  given  with  great  success  in  England  and 
Scotland.  All  who  heard  the  gifted  Englishwoman  will 
always  remember  her  cheerful  manner  and  her  warm  heart, 
coupled  with  rare  scholarship  and  such  an  enthusiasm  for 
her  subject  as  made  everybody  long  to  visit  and  explore 
the  ancient  country. 

In  every  city  where  she  spoke  she  was  the  recipient  of 
social  courtesies  from  the  most  distinguished.  Colum¬ 
bia  College  had  already,  in  1887,  given  her  the  degree  of 
Doctor  of  Letters  (L.  H.  D.),  and  Smith  College  made 
her  a  Doctor  of  Laws,  the  first  time  such  a  distinction  was 
accorded  in  America  to  a  woman. 

In  England  she  had  won  an  honored  place.  The  Crown 
had  recognized  her  services  to  knowledge  by  awarding  her 
a  pension  from  the  Civil  List.  When  the  Orientalists  held 
their  Congress  in  Vienna  in  188G,  at  the  invitation  of  the 
Emperor,  Miss  Edwards’s  important  paper  was  so  much 
appreciated  that  it  was  at  once  published  in  French, 
German,  and  English. 

When  King  Oscar  invited  the  Congress  to  Stockholm,  in 


328 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


1889,  Miss  Edwards’s  paper  treating  of  the  Cypriote, 
Phoenician,  aud  other  signs  upon  the  potsherds  recently 
discovered  in  Egypt  vras  of  so  much  interest  that  the 
renowned  Dr.  Brugsch  and  others  caused  it  to  be  read 
again  in  the  African  section  of  the  Congress. 

In  1883,  in  conjunction  with  Sir  Erasmus  Wilson  and 
Prof.  Reginald  Stuart  Poole,  LL.  D.,  she  helped  to  found 
the  Egypt  Exploration  Fund,  which  has  done,  and  is  still 
doing,  an  invaluable  w'ork.  The  collecting  of  money 
fell  largely  upon  her ;  also  the  correspondence  with  the 
explorers  who  were  carrying  forward  the  researches  in  the 
Egyptian  tombs  and  elsewhere ;  and  the  editing  of  the 
works  of  these  men,  besides  presenting  the  results  of  their 
labors  to  the  public  through  the  London  Times ,  the 
Athenceum ,  the  Academy ,  and  other  journals.  She 
watched  every  new  discovery  wdth  delight.  In  Harper's 
Magazine  for  July,  1882,  she  wrote  of  the  finding  of  the 
royal  mummies  now  in  the  Bulak  Museum  in  Cairo. 
Prof.  Maspero,  in  July,  1881,  caused  the  arrest  of  some 
Arabs  whom  he  suspected  of  concealing  valuable  treas¬ 
ures.  These  Arabs  pointed  out,  at  last,  a  buried  tomb  in 
Dayr-el-Bahari,  where  were  found  some  thirty-six  mum¬ 
mies  of  kings,  queens,  aud  high-priests.  These  are  now' 
in  the  Bulak  Museum. 

In  Harper's  for  October,  1886,  she  wrote  on  Tanis, 
the  Joan  of  the  Bible ;  in  The  Century  for  January, 

1890,  on  the  Temple  of  Bubastis. 

Her  last  illness  was  brought  on  by  a  visit  to  the  London 
docks,  in  November,  1891,  to  examine  antiquities  from 
Almas,  which  were  to  be  distributed  in  England  and 
America.  In  January  and  later,  she  rallied  from  pneu¬ 
monia,  but  a  relapse  came,  and  she  died,  not  at  her  home, 
“  The  Larches,”  near  Bristol,  but  at  Weston-Super-mare, 


AMELIA  BLANDFORD  EDWARDS. 


329 


on  April  15,  1892,  at  five  a.  m.  on  Good  Friday.  She 
was  a  little  more  than  sixty-one  years  of  age. 

The  end  came  suddenly  and  unexpectedly,  bringing 
sorrow  to  thousands  of  hearts  in  both  hemispheres. 

Miss  Edwards  was  born  June  7,  1831,  in  London.  She 
was  the  daughter  of  an  army  officer  prominent  in  the 
Peninsular  Campaign  under  Wellington,  and  of  an  able 
mother,  descended  from  the  Walpole  family.  Her  ma¬ 
ternal  grandfather  was  an  Irish  barrister,  Robert  Walpole. 

Her  early  education  was  begun  by  her  mother,  and  car¬ 
ried  on  by  a  tutor  who  fitted  boys  for  college.  At  four 
years  of  age  she  wrote  a  story,  printing  it  in  capital  let¬ 
ters ;  at  seven,  “The  Knights  of  Old,”  a  poem,  printed 
in  a  weekly  journal ;  at  twelve,  a  long  historical  novel,  of 
the  time  of  Edward  III,,  published  in  a  penny  paper,  the 
London  Pioneer. 

When  she  was  fourteen  she  sent  a  story  to  “  The  Omni¬ 
bus,”  a  periodical  edited  by  the  late  George  Cruikshank. 
On  the  back  of  the  manuscript  she  drew  sketches  of  her 
chief  characters.  The  great  caricaturist  was  so  pleased 
with  the  art  work  that  he  visited  the  author  and  was 
surprised  to  find  her  still  a  child.  lie  offered  to  train  her 
in  his  special  work,  but  as  she  had  decided  to  devote  her¬ 
self  to  music  she  declined  his  offer.  For  seven  years  she 
studied  music  becoming  a  composer  as  well  as  a  performer. 
At  the  age  of  twenty -one  she  had  become  so  successful 
with  her  short  stories  in  Chambers’s  Journal  and  else¬ 
where,  that,  having  lost  her  property,  she  decided  upon 
literature  as  a  profession,  rather  than  singing  in  concerts 
and  operas. 

From  this  time  onward  her  life  was  one  of  continuous 
labor,  happy  labor,  and  yet  none  the  less  exhausting  and 
constant.  She  wrote  regularly  for  the  press ;  reviews  of 


330 


FA  MO  US  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


books,  musical,  dramatic,  and  art  criticisms,  stories  and 
sketches  for  Household  Words ,  Chambers’s  Journal ,  and 
Good  Words ,  and  was  on  the  staff,  at  different  times, 
of  several  journals ;  the  Saturday  Review ,  the  Graphic , 
the  Illustrated  London  Neivs ,  and  the  Morning  Post. 
Miss  Edwards  says  in  the  Arena  for  August,  1891  : 
“  Time  is  precious  to  me,  and  leisure  is  a  thing  unknown. 
.  .  .  When  1  am  asked  what  are  my  working  hours,  I 
reply,  ‘  All  the  time  when  I  am  not  either  sitting  at 
meals,  taking  exercise,  or  sleeping’;  and  this  is  literally 
true.  I  live  with  the  pen  in  my  hand,  not  only  from 
morning  till  night  but  sometimes  from  night  till  morning. 
.  .  .  For  at  least  the  last  twenty-live  years,  I  have  rarely 
put  out  my  lamp  before  two  or  three  in  the  morning. 
Occasionally  when  work  presses  and  a  manuscript  has  to 
be  despatched  by  the  earliest  morning  mail,  1  remain  at 
my  desk  the  whole  night  through,  and  I  can  with  certainty 
say  that  the  last  chapter  of  every  book  I  have  ever  written 
has  been  finished  at  early  morning.” 

Her  first  novel,  at  least  the  first  which  attracted  any 
attention,  was  “  My  Brother’s  Wife,”  published  in  1855, 
when  Miss  Edwards  wras  twenty-four.  Two  years  later, 
in  1857,  “The  Ladder  of  Life”  appeared,  followed  by 
“Hand  and  Glove  ”  in  1858,  and  “Barbara’s  History” 
in  1864,  the  latter  becoming  a  general  favorite,  being 
translated  into  German,  French,  and  Italian. 

Meantime,  in  1856,  Miss  Edwards  had  written  “A 
Summary  of  English  History”;  in  1858,  “A  Summary 
of  French  History,”  and  a  translation  of  “  A  Lady’s  Cap¬ 
tivity  among  Chinese  Pirates”;  in  1862,  “Sights  and 
Stories,”  a  holiday  tour  through  North  Belgium ;  in  1863, 
“  The  Story  of  Cervantes,”  and  the  same  year,  “  Rachel 
Noble’s  Experience.”  The  next  novel  after  “  Barbara’s 


AMELIA  BLAND  FORD  EDWARDS. 


331 


History”  was  “Half  a  Million  of  Money,”  published  in 
18(35,  and  the  same  year  a  volume  of  poems  called  “  Bal¬ 
lads,”  and  one  of  short  stories,  called  “  Miss  Carew.” 

“  Debenham’s  Vow,”  a  story  of  the  blockade  at  Charles¬ 
town,  appeared  in  1870  ;  “  The  Sylvesters,”  in  1871  ;  “In 
the  Days  of  My  Youth,”  in  1873;  and  a  volume  of  short 
stories,  “  Monsieur  Maurice,”  also  in  1873. 

She  was  now  forty-two,  and  had  published  nearly  twenty 
Volumes,  besides  her  large  amount  of  journalistic  work. 
This  meant  a  busy  life  indeed,  varied  by  occasional  visits 
to  Germany,  Greece,  and  Italy. 

In  1873,  “  Untrodden  Peaks  and  Unfrequented  Val¬ 
leys  ”  was  published.  It  is  a  breezy  and  interesting 
record  of  a  journey  in  the  South  Eastern  Tyrol,  among  the 
limestone  mountains  called  the  “  Dolomites.”  The  book 
shows  Miss  Edwards  as  ever  the  educated  and  energetic 
woman ;  skilled  in  botany,  knowing  how  to  measure 
mountains,  to  paint  pictures,  as  well  as  to  study  character, 
to  get  much  of  cheer  out  of  the  discomforts  of  an  almost 
unknown  land. 

The  wedding  scene  in  Cortina,  where  the  bride  and 
groom  exchange  rings  and  receive  the  blessing  of  the 
priest  with  their  lighted  candles  in  their  hands,  the  hus¬ 
band  then  going  away  to  play  at  bowls,  and  the  young- 
wife  to  exchange  her  finery  for  her  shabby,  every-day 
clothes,  is  a  graphic  picture.  No  tourist  will  ever  go  over 
the  route  taken  by  Miss  Edwards  without  looking  for  the 
buried  villages  at  the  bottom  of  the  lake  of  Alleghe,  whose 
church-spires  and  house-tops  can  still  be  seen.  The  four 
villages  were  buried  in  this  lake  in  1771,  through  a  land¬ 
slide.  It  is  said  that  a  charcoal-burner,  who  had  been  at 
work  in  the  woods  all  day,  ran  through  the  villages  telling 
that  the  mountain  was  moving,  but  nobody  heeded  this 


332 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Eastern.  Paul  Revere,  and  in  the  night  the  mountain  swept 
down  upon  the  sleepers  and  none  escaped.  Two  villages 
were  buried  and  two  were  drowned. 

Especially  interesting  is  her  description  of  Cadore,  for¬ 
ever  immortalized  as  being  the  home  of  the  great  painter, 
Titian.  She  saw  the  white-washed  cottage  where  he  was 
born,  with  this  inscription  in  Italian  on  the  side  wall : 
“  In  1477,  within  these  humble  walls  Titian  Vecellio 
entered  a  celebrated  life,  whence  he  departed,  at  the  end 
of  nearly  a  hundred  years,  in  Venice,  on  the  27th  day  of 
August,  1576.”  Adjoining  is  the  old  house  where  he  is 
believed  to  have  painted,  when  eleven  years  of  age,  the 
Madonna  and  the  child  standing  on  her  knee,  while  a  boy 
(an  angel) ,  supposed  to  have  the  face  of  Titian,  kneels  at 
the  feet  of  the  Virgin. 

In  the  old  Duomo  Miss  Edwards  saw  some  pictures 
believed  to  be  genuine  Titians,  and  found  that  the  pastor  of 
the  church  thought  “  Cadore  the  axis  on  which  the  world 
goes  round  ”  When  one  sees  how  thousands  attach 
themselves  to  any  who  have  achieved  fame,  one  marvels 
why  so  many  are  unwilling  to  do  the  hard  work  which  is 
necessary  to  bring  fame  or  success. 

A  second  edition  of  “  Untrodden  Peaks  ”  was  published 
in  1890,  seventeen  years  after  the  first  edition,  dedicated 
to  “  My  American  Friends  in  all  Parts  of  the  World.” 

In  1877  a  book  was  published  which  was  eagerly  read, 
and  at  once  acknowledged  to  be  the  work  of  a  scholar, 
and  an  authority  upon  Egyptology,  “  A  Thousand  Miles 
up  the  Nile.”  Heretofore  Miss  Edwards  had  been  a 
musician,  a  painter,  a  novelist,  a  charming  woman  socially  : 
now  she  was  indeed  a  woman  of  whom  her  sex  could 
be  proud,  the  accepted  equal  of  prominent  scholars,  an 
indefatigable  worker,  and  one  of  comprehensive  grasp. 


AMELIA  BLANDFORD  EDWARDS. 


333 


No  one  can  read  the  book  without  becoming  forever  after¬ 
wards  deeply  interested  in  Egyptian  history,  having  a  desire 
to  see  for  one’s  self  the  wonders  of  architecture  in  that 
strange  land,  and  the  proofs  of  that  remarkable  civiliza¬ 
tion,  from  which  we  may  learn  so  much.  She  said  she  had 
found  that  hieroglyphics  could  be  read,  “  for  the  simple 
reason  that  I  find  myself  able  to  read  an  Egyptian  sentence.” 

Miss  Edwards  and  her  friends  sailed  up  the  Nile  in  a 
dahabeeyah,  a  flat-bottomed  boat  with  two  masts,  with  a 
crew  and  other  helpers,  numbering  twenty  in  all.  The 
Nile  sailors  she  describes  as  a  docile,  good-tempered  set, 
who  are  paid  a  little  more  than  two  pounds  a  month. 
Bread  is  their  chief  article  of  food,  which  they  bake  at 
large  public  ovens  along  the  river,  cut  in  slices  and  dry 
in  the  sun,  and  then  soak  in  hot  water,  flavor  with  oil, 
pepper,  and  salt,  and  stir  it  into  boiled  lentils  till  the 
whole  becomes  like  pea-soup.  A  little  coffee  twice  a  day 
and  a  handful  of  dates,  with  this  soup,  constitute  their 
food  for  the  journey. 

Of  course  Miss  Edwards  saw  the  great  pyramid  at 
Ghizeh,  seven  hundred  and  thirty-two  feet  long  and  four 
hundred  and  eighty  feet  high,  begun  by  King  Khufu,  or 
Cheops,  and  supposed  to  have  been  over  four  thousand 
two  hundred  years  old  at  the  time  of  the  birth  of  Christ 

At  Sakkarah,  after  seeing  more  pyramids,  she  visited 
the  Serapeum,  —  the  long-lost  sepulchral  temple  of  the 
sacred  bulls.  These  animals  lived  in  the  great  temple  of 
Apis,  at  Memphis,  when  they  were  alive,  and  at  death, 
after  being  prepared  like  mummies,  were  buried  in  cat¬ 
acombs  in  the  desert. 

In  1850,  Mariette  Bey,  exploring  in  the  interests  of 
the  French  Government,  discovered  this  temple,  and  the 
avenue  six  hundred  feet  long,  leading  to  it,  bordered  with 


334 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


sphinxes.  At  the  end  of  the  main  avenue  was  found  a 
semi-circular  platform,  around  which  stood  statues  of 
famous  Greek  philosophers  and  poets.  Besides  the  great 
temple  of  the  Serapeum  there  were  found  three  smaller 
temples,  and  three  groups  of  Apis  catacombs,  vaults  and 
passages  hewn  out  of  the  solid  rock  on  which  the  temples 
were  built. 

In  these  tombs  Miss  Edwards  saw  immense  stone 
coffins,  fourteen  feet  in  length,  by  eleven  in  height,  each 
coffin  a  single  block  of  highly  finished  black  granite. 
Three  of  the  sarcophagi  bear  the  oval  of  Cambyses,  the 
second  king  of  Persia,  529  B.  C.,  who,  being  enraged  at 
one  of  t he  sacred  bulls,  drew  his  dagger  and  stabbed  him 
in  the  thigh.  The  bull  died  of  his  wound,  according  to 
Herodotus.  Mariette  found  in  one  of  these  sepulchral 
chambers  the  footprints  of  the  workmen,  made  four 
thousand  years  before,  in  the  thin  layer  of  sand  on  the 
pavement. 

Memphis,  the  once  great  city7,  with  sacred  groves,  obe¬ 
lisks,  temples,  and  palaces,  is  now  little  more  than  dust 
heaps.  Apis,  the  sacred  bull,  once  lived  here  in  state, 
taking  his  exercise  in  a  courtyard  where  every  column 
was  a  statue. 

Going  up  the  river,  the  travellers  were  honored  with  a 
visit  from  “  Holy  Sheykh  Cotton,”  a  well-fed  man  of 
thirty,  whose  blessing  makes  the  sailors  sure  of  a  success¬ 
ful  voj'age.  “He  has  two  wives,”  says  Miss  Edwards; 
“  he  never  does  a  stroke  of  work,  and  he  looks  the  picture 
of  sleek  prosperity.  Yet  he  is  a  saint  of  the  first  water, 
and  when  he  dies  miracles  will  be  performed  at  his  tomb, 
and  his  eldest  son  will  succeed  him  in  the  business.” 

Another  saint  is  Sheykh  Selim,  “  holiest  of  the  holy, 
dirtiest  of  the  dirty,  white-pated,  white-bearded,  withered, 


AMELIA  BLAND  FORD  EDWARDS. 


335 


bent,  and  knotted  up,  —  he  who,  naked  and  unwashed,  has 
sat  on  that  same  spot  every  day,  through  summer  heat  and 
winter  cold,  for  the  last  fifty  years,  never  providing  himself 
with  food  or  water ;  never  even  lifting  his  hand  to  his 
mouth,  depending  on  charity,  not  only  for  his  food  but 
for  his  feeding.” 

Worse,  almost,  than  the  ignorance  and  superstition  of 
the  people  is  their  filth.  “  The  children  of  the  very 
poor,”  says  Miss  Edwards,  “  are  simply  encrusted  with 
dirt  and  sores,  and  swarming  with  vermin.  To  wash 
young  children  is  injurious  to  health,  therefore  the 
mothers  suffer  them  to  fall  into  a  state  of  personal  uu- 
cleanliuess,  which  is  alone  enough  to  engender  disease. 
To  brush  away  the  flies  that  beset  their  eyes  is  impious ; 
hence,  ophthalmia  and  various  kinds  of  blindness.  I  have 
seen  infants  in  their  mothers’  arms  with  six  or  eight  tlies  in 
each  eye.  I  have  seen  the  little  helpless  hands  put  down 
reprovingly  if  they  approached  the  seat  of  annoyance.” 

At  Denderah,  Miss  Edwards  saw  the  massive  temple 
begun  by  Ptolemy  XI.  upon  a  site  where  other  temples 
had  been  erected  since  the  era  of  King  Cheops.  The 
names  of  Augustus,  Caligula,  Tiberius,  Nero,  and  others 
are  found  in  the  royal  ovals.  The  building  must  have 
been  comparatively  new  when  in  A.  D.  379  the  ancient 
religion  was  abolished  by  the  edict  of  Theodosius,  and 
forty  thousand  statues  of  divinity  were  destroyed.  The 
walls  of  the  enclosure  about  the  temple,  with  its  groves 
of  palm  and  acacia,  were  one  thousand  feet  in  length, 
thirty-live  in  height,  and  fifteen  feet  in  thickness. 

Here  is  a  famous  external  bass-relief  of  Cleopatra,  the 
beautiful  queen  who  knew  ten  languages,  and  who  turned 
the  heads  of  Julius  Cmsar  and  Mark  Anthony.  The 
hair  is  plaited  as  the  women  of  Egypt  dress  their  hair 


336 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


to-day,  in  an  almost  infinite  number  of  tiny  plaits,  the 
ends  covered  with  Nile  mud  dipped  in  yellow  ochre. 

The  temple  of  Denderah  contained  store  chambers,  where 
the  vestments  of  the  priests  and  the  holy  vessels  must 
have  been  kept,  with  cloisters  and  vast  enclosures  sur¬ 
rounded  by  walls,  where  the  solemn  rites  of  the  priest¬ 
hood  were  probably  observed. 

The  king  is  represented  in  his  double  character  of 
Pharaoh  and  high-priest  in  all  the  hieroglyphics  of  this 
vast  temple.  He  is  conducted  to  the  gods  by  goddesses, 
lie  is  purified  and  crowned,  and  then  presented  in  the 
supreme  presence  of  Hathor,  the  Goddess  of  Truth,  and 
of  the  Beautiful.  Later  he  presents  flowers,  bread,  and 
Avine  as  offerings  to  Osiris. 

The  latter,  the  Good,  was  killed  in  a  fight  Avith  Typhou 
the  Evil,  and  his  body  thrown  into  the  Nile.  IBs  wife, 
Isis,  found  it,  and  his  soul  was  belieAred  to  enter  into  the 
bull  Apis. 

In  a  dark  chamber  of  the  temple  Avas  the  Holy  of  Holies, 
where  the  golden  sistrum  or  timbrel  of  the  goddess  was 
kept.  The  king  alone  could  take  this  mysterious  emblem 
from  its  niche,  and  enclosing  it  in  a  costly  shrine,  put  it 
in  one  of  the  sacred  boats,  to  be  hoisted  on  poles  and  car¬ 
ried  in  procession  on  the  shoulders  of  the  priests. 

At  the  temple  of  Luxor,  in  Thebes,  Miss  Edwards  and 
her  party  looked  upon  the  representations  of  the  battles 
of  Raineses  II.,  usually  called  Rameses  the  Great. 
He  is  said  to  have  met  his  enemies  single-handed,  and  to 
have  charged  upon  the  foe  six  times,  overthrowing  twenty- 
five  hundred  chariots  and  one  hundred  thousand  warriors. 
Those  whom  he  did  not  kill  he  forced  into  the  river. 
Rameses  II.,  called  also  Sesostris,  began  to  reign  at  the 
age  of  tAvelve,  about  1405  B.  C.,  Avith  his  father,  Seti  I., 


AMELIA  BLAND FORD  EDWARDS. 


337 


the  son  o l  Raineses  I.,  the  founder  of  dynasty  XIX. 
Rameses  II.  had  three  wives,  as  is  told  by  the  hieroglyph¬ 
ics,  an  extensive  harem,  and  his  children  numbered  one 
hundred  and  seventy.  He  was  a  wonderful  ruler,  build¬ 
ing  more  than  one  hundred  temples,  digging  artesian  wells 
and  canals,  and  effecting  the  greatest  improvements  and 
enterprises  in  his  kingdom,  through  the  forced  labor  of 
slaves  and  captives  taken  in  war.  He  is  believed  by 
scholars  to  have  been  the  Pharaoh  of  the  captivity  of  the 
Irsaelites,  and  his  son,  Menepthah,  the  Pharaoh  of  the 
Exodus. 

In  1881,  Prof.  Maspero  found  the  mummy  of  this 
famous  chieftain,  Rameses  II.,  among  the  stolen  and 
hidden  bodies  in  Dayr-el-Bahari.  On  the  top  of  the 
mummy  case  is  an  effigy  of  the  body  within.  The  hands 
are  crossed  upon  the  breast.  The  right  hand  holds  the 
royal  flail,  and  the  left  the  royal  crook.  The  eyes  are 
inserted  in  enamel,  while  the  eyebrows  and  eyelashes  arc 
painted  black. 

The  body  itself  was  wrapped  in  orange  and  rose-colored 
linen,  very  fine,  with  white  bands  to  keep  the  shroud  in 
place.  On  these  bands  were  written  the  name  and  history 
of  the  king. 

The  Rev.  Charles  S.  Robinson,  D.  I).,  in  his  “Pharaohs 
of  the  Bondage  of  the  Exodus,”  thus  describes  the  mummy 
of  Rameses  II.  :  “  The  initial  wrapping  was  removed,  and 
there  was  disclosed  a  band  of  stuff  or  strong  cloth  rolled 
all  around  the  body  ;  next  to  this  was  a  second  envelop, 
sewed  up  and  kept  in  place  by  narrow  bands  at  some  dis¬ 
tance  each  from  each ;  then  came  two  thicknesses  of 
small  bandages,  and  then  a  new  winding-sheet  of  linen, 
reaching  from  the  head  to  the  feet.  Upon  this  a  figure 
representing  the  goddess  Nut,  more  than  a  yard  in  length, 


338 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


bad  been  drawn  in  red  and  white  color,  as  prescribed  by 
the  ritual  for  the  dead.  Beneath  this  amulet  there  was 
found  one  more  bandage ;  when  that  was  removed  a  piece 
of  linen  alone  remained,  and  this  was  spotted  with  the 
bituminous  matter  used  by  the  embalmers ;  so  at  last  it 
was  evident  that  Rameses  the  Great  was  close  by  —  under 
his  shroud.  .  .  . 

“A  single  clip  of  the  scissors,  and  the  king  was  fully 
disclosed.  The  head  is  long,  and  small  in  proportion  to 
the  body.  The  top  of  the  skull  is  quite  bare.  On  the 
temple  there  are  a  few  sparse  liaiis,  but  at  the  poll  the 
hair  is  quite  thick,  forming  smooth,  straight  locks  about 
two  inches  in  length.  White  at  the  time  of  death,  they 
have  been  dyed  a  light  yellow  by  the  spices  used  in  em¬ 
balmment.  The  forehead  is  low  and  narrow  .  .  .  the 
eyes  are  small  and  close  together ;  the  nose  is  long,  thin, 
arched  like  the  noses  of  the  Bourbons ;  the  cheek-bones 
very  prominent ;  the  ears  round,  standing  far  out  from 
the  head,  and  pierced,  like  those  of  a  woman,  for  the 
wearing  of  ear-rings  ;  the  jawbone  is  massive  and  strong ; 
the  chin  very  prominent ;  the  mouth  small  but  thick- 
lipped.” 

The  mummy  is  six  feet  long.  At  Dayr-el-Bahari  were 
found  also  the  bodies  of  King  Pinotem  I.,  King  Piuotem 
II.,  Queen  Isi-em-Kheb,  and  many  others.  With  the 
mummy  of  the  queen  were  found  mummified  meats,  — 
trussed  geese,  calves’  heads,  dried  grapes  and  dates,  all 
packed  in  a  large  rush  hamper,  and  sealed  with  her  hus¬ 
band’s  seal. 

Besides  food  for  her  future  needs,  her  toilet  was  not 
forgotten  :  her  ointment  bottles,  several  full-dress  wigs, 
curled  and  frizzed,  a  set  of  alabaster  cups,  and  exquisite 
goblets  of  variegated  glass. 


AMELIA  BLAND FORD  EDWARDS. 


339 


A  wooden  and  ivory  cabinet  of  the  great  woman  Pha¬ 
raoh  of  dynasty  XVIII.,  Queen  Hatasu,  was  found,  con¬ 
taining  a  desiccated  human  liver,  possibly  her  own.  She 
was  famous  as  a  builder  of  ships  and  promoter  of  com¬ 
merce.  She  was  the  wife  of  her  brother,  Thothmes  II. 

As  the  rites  of  mummification  were  performed  for  every 
man,  woman,  and  child,  slave  and  criminal,  it  is  estimated 
that  there  have  been  in  Egypt  not  less  than  731,000,000 
mummies. 

Formerly  a  stately  avenue  two  miles  long  bordered  by 
sphinxes  about  ten  feet  in  length  led  from  the  temple  at 
Luxor  to  the  one  at  Karnak.  Miss  Edwards  thinks  there 
must  have  been  two  hundred  and  fifty  sphinxes  on  each 
side  of  the  avenue. 

At  Karnak  the  travellers  studied  the  Great  Temple  with 
its  doorway  one  hundred  feet  in  height.  The  twelve 
central  columns  of  the  hypostyle  hall  built  by  Seti,  the 
father  of  Kameses  the  Great,  are  sixty-two  feet  high,  and 
so  large  that  six  men  with  extended  arms,  finger-tip  to 
finger-tip,  can  barely  span  any  one  of  them.  The  remain¬ 
ing  one  hundred  and  twenty-two  columns  are  gigantic 
also.  All  are  buried  between  six  and  seven  feet  in  the 
alluvial  deposits. 

Of  this  hall  Miss  Edwards  says :  “  The  Pyramids 

are  more  stupendous.  The  Colosseum  covers  more 
ground.  The  Parthenon  is  more  beautiful,  yet  in  nobility 
of  conception,  in  vastness  of  detail,  in  majesty  of  the 
highest  order,  the  Hall  of  Pillars  exceeds  them  every  one. 
This  doorway,  —  these  columns  are  the  wonder  of  the 
world.” 

Miss  Edwards  became  so  absorbed  in  her  water-color 
paintings  at  these  various  places  that  she  sometimes  for¬ 
got  to  eat.  The  faithful  Arab  servant  would  touch 


340 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


nothing  at  such  time,  saying,  “By  my  prophet,  am  I  a 
pig  or  a  dog,  that  I  should  eat  when  the  Sitt  is  fasting?” 

They  explored  Nubia,  with  its  temples,  tombs,  and 
strange  people.  They  went  among  the  natives,  bought 
girdles  soaked  in  castor-oil,  and  other  souvenirs  of  the 
country. 

Of  the  Nubian,  Miss  Edwards  says:  “He  reckons 
castor-oil  among  his  greatest  luxuries.  He  eats  it  as  we 
eat  butter.  His  wives  saturate  their  plaited  locks  with  it. 
His  little  girls  perfume  their  fringes  with  it.  His  home, 
his  breath,  his  garments,  his  food  are  redoleut  of  it.  It 
pervades  the  very  air  in  which  he  lives  and  has  his  being. 
Happy  the  European  traveller  who,  while  his  lines  are 
cast  in  Nubia,  can  train  his  degenerate  nose  to  delight  in 
the  aroma  of  castor-oil !  ” 

At  Abou  Simbel,  in  Nubia,  the}7  visited  the  temples 
with  the  colossal  statues  of  Raineses  II.  and  his  queen, 
Nefertari,  each  thirty  feet  high,  and  their  infants,  ten 
feet  high.  The  superb  hieroglyphics  are  cut  half  a  foot 
deep  in  the  rock:  “  Rameses,  the  Strong  in  Truth,  the 
Beloved  of  Amen,  made  this  divine  abode  for  his  royal 
wife,  Nefertari,  whom  he  loves.”  In  another  place  in  the 
temple  one  reads  that  “his  royal  wife,  who  loves  him, 
Nefertari,  the  Beloved  of  Mailt,  constructed  for  him  this 
Abode  in  the  Mountain  of  the  Pure  Waters.”  The  name 
of  Nefertari  means  perfect,  good,  or  beautiful  companion. 
Evidently  love  was  in  the  world  in  those  days,  as  now. 

Miss  Edwards  describes  the  monster  battle  scene  with 
1,100  figures,  on  the  north  side  of  the  Great  Hall.  Ram¬ 
eses  drives  before  him  the  fugitives,  after  the  battle.  The 
work  must  be  seen  at  sunrise  to  be  appreciated. 

At  Abou  Simbel  Miss  Edwards  and  her  party  made 
some  interesting  discoveries  of  rock-cut  chambers  in  the 


AMELIA  BLANDFORD  EDWARDS. 


341 


buried  sand.  They  were  sculptured  and  painted  in  the 
best  style  of  the  best  period  of  Egyptian  art,  bearing  the 
portraits  of  Raineses  the  Great  and  his  queen.  The 
coloring  was  very  brilliant.  That  these  chambers  had 
never  been  discovered  before,  as  have  many  of  the  others, 
either  in  the  times  of  the  Ptolemies  or  the  Caesars,  was 
shown  by  the  fact  that  there  were  no  interpolated  inscrip¬ 
tions,  or  “  pious  caricatures  of  St.  George  and  the  Holy 
Family,”  in  the  time  of  the  early  Christians.  Miss 
Edwards  thinks  it  probable  that  an  earthquake  which 
visited  that  country  in  the  time  of  Raineses  II.  made  the 
chambers  ever  after  inaccessible.  Dr.  S.  Birch  thinks 
the  newly-discovered  place  might  have  been  the  library  of 
the  Great  Temple  of  Abou  Simbel,  where  the  Egyptian 
books,  huge  rolls  of  papyrus,  were  stored. 

In  this  excavating  Miss  Edwards  worked  with  the 
gi'eatest  enthusiasm.  “  Unconscious  of  fatigue,”  she 
says,  “  we  toiled  upon  our  hands  aud  knees,  as  for  bare 
life,  under  the  burning  sun.  We  had  all  the  crew  up, 
working  like  tigers.  Every  one  helped  ;  even  the  drago¬ 
man  and  the  two  maids.  More  than  once,  when  we  paused 
for  a  moment’s  breathing  space,  we  said  to  each  other : 

‘  If  those  at  home  could  see  us,  what  would  they  say  !  ’  ” 

On  their  return  down  the  Nile,  they  joined  the  exca¬ 
vators  at  work  in  the  Necropolis  of  Thebes,  and  saw 
mummies  taken  out  of  the  rock  tombs.  Sometimes  the 
mummies  were  iu  the  mountain  side ;  these  tombs  had 
been  numbered  half  a  century  before  by  Sir  Gardner  4\  il- 
kinson  in  “The  Manners  and  Customs  of  the  Ancient 
Egyptians.”  “  This  book,”  says  Miss  Edwards,  “  as  a 
child,  had  shared  my  affections  with  ‘The  Arabian  Nights.’ 
I  had  read  every  line  of  the  old  six-volume  edition  over 
and  over  again.  I  knew  every  one  of  the  six  hundred 


342 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


illustrations  by  heart.  Now  I  suddenly  found  myself  in 
the  midst  of  old  and  half-forgotten  friends.  ...  It  seemed 
to  me  that  I  had  met  all  these  kindly  brown  people  years 
and  years  ago,  perhaps  in  some  previous  stage  of  exist¬ 
ence  ;  that  I  had  walked  with  them  in  their  gardens  ;  lis¬ 
tened  to  the  music  of  their  lutes  and  tambourines  ;  pledged 
them  at  their  feasts.” 

Bab-el-Moluk,  or  the  Valley  of  the  Tomb  of  the 
Kings,  was  found  to  be  a  most  interesting  study.  The 
longest  tomb  in  the  valley,  that  of  Seti  I.,  measures  four 
hundred  and  seventy  feet  in  length,  with  a  total  depth  of 
descent  of  one  hundred  and  eighty  feet.  The  sarcophagus 
was  taken  to  England,  and  is  in  the  Sir  -T.  Sloane  Museum. 
It  is  carved  from  a  single  block  of  the  finest  alabaster. 

The  tomb  of  Raineses  III.,  one  of  the  greatest  of  the 
monarchs  of  Egypt,  measures  four  hundred  and  five  feet 
in  length,  and  descends  only  thirty-one  feet.  The  sar¬ 
cophagus  is  in  the  Fitz-William  Museum  at  Cambridge, 
England,  and  its  lid  is  in  the  Louvre.  Many  of  these  tombs 
were  opened  and  rifled  of  their  jewels  and  other  treasures 
in  Ptolemaic  times.  The  vases,  sandals,  clothing,  food, 
and  other  articles  in  the  tombs  were  placed  there  for  the 
use  of  the  dead,  when  they  should  awake,  after  the  return 
of  the  soul  to  the  body.  The  wealthy  often  left  a  portion 
of  their  estate  to  the  priests  to  provide  for  these  sepul-  j 
chral  meals. 

The  immense  colossi  of  the  plain,  at  Thebes,  fifty  feet 
high,  without  their  pedestals,  and  eighteen  feet  and  three 
inches  across  the  shoulders,  representing  Amenhotep  III., 
who  reigned  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  before  the 
time  of  Raineses  the  Great,  and  began  the  Temple  of 
Luxor,  were  of  intense  interest  to  the  travellers.  One  of 
these  statues  formerly  gave  out  a  musical  sound  during 


AMELIA  BLANDFORD  EDWARDS. 


343 


the  first  hour  of  the  day,  and  was  supposed  to  have  a 
miraculous  voice.  The  Greeks  thought  it  the  son  of 
Tithonus  and  Aurora,  and  called  it  Memnon.  Hadrian 
and  other  famous  emperors  and  writers  came  to  hear  Mem¬ 
non.  Some  have  supposed  the  music  was  produced  by 
the  priests,  as  there  is  a  hollow  space  inside  the  throne 
of  the  statue ;  others,  that  it  was  produced  by  rarefied 
air  through  the  crevices  of  the  stone,  caused  by  the 
sudden  change  of  temperature  consequent  on  the  rising  of 
the  sun. 

Miss  Edwards’s  “  A  Thousand  Miles  up  the  Nile  ”  at 
once  became  a  classic  on  Egypt.  The  “  Literary  World  ” 
well  called  it  “  one  of  t  he  brilliant,  fascinating  books  of 
travel  for  all  time.” 

In  1879  she  published  “A  Poetry  Book  of  Elder 
Poets.”  She  also  wrote  three  hundred  biographies  for 
Colnaghi’s  Photographic  Historical  Portrait  Gallery,”  and 
“  Home  and  Foreign  Lyrics,”  besides  several  translations 
and  compilations. 

She  published  only  one  novel  after  this,  “  Lord  Brack- 
enbury,”  in  1880,  which  appeared  first  as  a  serial  in  the 
London  Graphic.  It  went  through  twenty  editions,  and 
has  been  translated  into  French,  German,  and  Russian. 

The  story  turns  upon  the  mysterious  disappearance  of 
Lord  Brackenbury,  after  he  lias  purchased  one  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  dollars’  worth  of  diamonds,  ostensibly 
for  Winifred,  to  whom  he  is  betrothed.  He  is  not  in  love 
with  her,  but  expects  to  marry  her  through  the  wish  of 
his  father. 

He  prefers  to  lead  a  seafaring  life  rather  than  take  upon 
himself  the  cares  of  an  estate ;  uses  the  diamonds  for  his 
support  for  a  term  of  years,  marries  the  one  he  loves,  and 
returns  seventeen  years  later,  to  find  that  his  brother 


344 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Lancelot  has  married  Winifred.  He  asks  for  and  receives 
a  portion  of  the  estate,  and,  without  seeing  his  brother  or 
Winifred,  goes  back  to  his  quiet,  untitled  life.  The  de¬ 
scription  of  an  eruption  of  Vesuvius  in  1872  is  very 
graphic. 

After  the  publication  of  this  book  Miss  Edwards  gave 
herself  more  fully  than  ever  to  her  beloved  Egyptian 
study.  She  translated  Maspero’s  “  Egyptian  Archae¬ 
ology,”  and  after  her  lectures  in  America,  brought  out, 
in  1891,  her  “Pharaohs,  Fellahs,  and  Explorers,”  the 
substance  of  the  lectures,  with  much  added.  Every  page 
is  full  of  interest.  Her  friend  and  co-laborer  in  Egypt¬ 
ology  in  this  country,  the  Rev.  William  C.  Winslow, 
D.  D.,  LL.  D.,  of  Boston,  the  efficient  and  scholarly  vice- 
president  of  the  Egypt  Exploration  Fund,  well  says  of  her 
in  “  Biblia  ”  for  May,  1892:  “Her  profound  knowledge 
of  ancient  Egypt  and  her  exhaustive  study  of  the  re¬ 
markable  results  of  the  explorations  in  that  historic  won¬ 
derland,  combined  with  her  graphic  and  picturesque 
powers  of  description,  made  her  articles  of  popular  as 
well  as  scholastic  value. 

“  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  Miss  Edwards  will  live 
in  biography  as  one  of  the  most  remarkable  women  of 
the  latter  half  of  this  century.  .  .  .  We  thank  heaven 
for  what  her  busy,  varied,  suggestive  life  accomplished, 
and  for  the  splendid  example  she  lias  set  to  her  own  sex 
in  showing  what  women  can  do  in  scholarly  research,  and, 
more  important  yet,  in  causing  its  light  to  shine  out  and 
enlighten  the  world.” 

Miss  Edwards  describes  the  finding,  in  1883,  of  Pithom, 
one  of  the  “  treasure  cities”  built  by  the  forced  labor  of 
the  Hebrews.  It  was  discovered  by  M.  Xaville,  of  Geneva, 
the  first  explorer  sent  out  by  the  Exploration  Fund. 


AMELIA  BLANDFORD  EDWARDS. 


345 


Tanis,  or  Zoan,  was  discovered  in  1884,  by  Mr.  W.  M. 
Flinders  Petrie. 

The  great  temple  of  Tanis  —  Zoan  —  was  one  of  the 
grandest  in  Egypt,  dating  probably  from  the  time  of  the 
Pyramids.  It  was  rebuilt  centuries  later  by  Raineses  II. 
Mr.  Petrie  found  here  fragments  of  the  largest  colossus 
ever  sculptured  by  man.  It  was  cut  out  of  the  red  granite 
of  Assuan,  and  once  stood  erect  and  crowned,  one  hundred 
and  twenty-five  feet  high,  including  the  pedestal.  The 
minimum  weight  of  this  statue  of  Rameses  II.  must  have 
beeu  about  twelve  hundred  tons ;  probably  one  massive 
block.  The  foot  of  the  statue  measured  fifty-seven  and 
two  eighths  inches  in  length. 

In  one  buried  house  in  Tanis,  that  of  Bakakhin,  Mr. 
Petrie  found  seven  ancient  waste-paper  baskets  full  of 
deeds,  letters,  and  other  manuscripts.  One  proved  to  be 
a  mathematical  treatise,  another  an  almanac. 

In  other  places  Mr.  Petrie  found  most  interesting  papyri. 
One,  in  1889,  was  a  complete  copy  of  the  Second  Book  of 
the  “  Iliad,”  written  in  uncial  Greek  by  a  scribe  of  the 
second  century  after  Christ.  It  was  buried  under  the 
head  of  a  young  woman  in  the  Graeco-Egyptian  Necropolis 
of  Ilawara.  The  inscription  upon  her  coffin  was  illegible. 
“We  only  know,”  says  Miss  Edwards,  “that  she  was 
young  and  fair,  and  that  she  so  loved  her  Homer  that  it 
was  buried  with  her  in  the  grave.  Her  head  and  her 
beautiful  black  hair  are  now  in  the  Ethnographical  Depart¬ 
ment  of  the  Natural  History  Museum  at  South  Kensing¬ 
ton,  and  her  precious  papyrus  is  in  the  Bodleian  Library 
at  Oxford.” 

Miss  Edwards  regarded  as  the  three  most  interesting 
historic  documents  yet  found  in  Egypt  the  “Chart  of 
Victory,”  engraved  on  a  large  black  granite  tablet  found 


346 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


ill  the  temple  of  Karnak,  at  Thebes,  the  “  Epic  of  Pen- 
taur,”  and  the  treaty  between  Rameses  II.  and  the  allied 
princes  of  Syria. 

The  “Chart  of  Victory”  records  the  conquests  of 
Thothmes  III.,  the  Alexander  of  ancient  Egypt.  The 
“  Epic  of  Pentaur  ”  records  the  campaign  of  the  great  Ram¬ 
eses  II.  against  the  allied  forces  of  Syria  and  Asia  Minor. 
It  is  sometimes  called  the  Egyptian  Iliad.  A  copy  of 
this  poem  on  papyrus  is  in  the  British  Museum. 

Several  papyri  have  been  found  containing  moral  pre¬ 
cepts.  The  maxims  of  Ptah-hotep  are  found  in  the 
famous  Prisse  papyrus,  the  oldest  papyrus  known.  It  is 
in  the  Bibliotheque  Nationale,  of  Paris,  written  by  a  scribe 
in  the  Xlth  dynasty.  Some  of  it  is  copied  from  a  Vth 
dynasty  document,  written  nearly  four  thousand  years 
before  our  era.  An  excellent  translation  is  in  the  Biblio- 
thecra  Sacra,  1888,  made  by  Prof.  Howard  Osgood,  D.  D., 
of  Rochester,  N.  Y.  The  maxims  are  applicable  to  us  of 
the  nineteenth  century  :  — 

“  Be  not  proud  because  of  thy  learning,”  says  Ptah- 
hotep.  “  Converse  with  the  ignorant  as  freely  as  with 
scholar ;  for  the  gates  of  Jcnotvledge  should  never  be 
closed .” 

“If  thou  art  exalted  after  having  been  low,  if  thou  art 
rich  after  having  been  needy,  harden  not  thy  heart  because 
of  thy  elevation  :  thou  hast  but  become  a  steward  of  the 
good  things  belonging  to  the  gods.” 

“  If  thou  wouldst  be  of  good  conduct  and  dwell  apart 
from  evil,  beware  of  bad  temper;  for  it  contains  the 
germs  of  all  wickedness.” 

“  Work  for  thyself.  Do  not  count  upon  the  wealth  of 
others  :  it  will  not  enter  thy  dwelling-place.” 

“  He  who  speaks  evil  reaps  evil.” 


AMELIA  BLANDFOBI)  EDWARDS. 


347 


“  Ill-treat  not  thy  wife,  whose  strength  is  less  than 
thine  :  be  thou  her  protector.” 

Miss  Edwards’s  lecture  tour  in  America  was  fatiguing. 
While  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Francis  Collins,  at  Columbus, 
Ohio,  a  friend  who  had  travelled  with  her  in  the  Eastern 
Mediterranean  twenty  years  before,  she  broke  her  arm, 
and  from  this,  added  to  the  wear  of  body,  she  never  fully 
recovered.  .She  did  not  lose  a  single  lecture  engagement, 
being  scrupulous  about  her  word,  and  knowing  the  dis¬ 
appointment  her  absence  would  occasion  those  who  had 
prepared  for  her  coming.  She  even  lectured  on  the 
evening  of  the  day  on  which  her  arm  was  broken,  and 
travelled  several  hundred  miles  the  day  afterward. 

Mrs.  Collins  writes  me  concerning  her:  “  She  was,  as 
you  know,  a  most  accomplished  woman,  and  very  agree¬ 
able  in  manner,  with  nothing  pedantic  about  her.  She 
was  a  fine  artist,  anti  her  sketches  were  spirited  and 
finished.  She  told  me  she  had  studied  music  sufficiently 
to  be  able  to  write  it  for  a  full  band,  and  on  all  subjects 
which  came  up  for  discussion  during  the  dolce  far  niente 
days  of  our  voyage  she  showed  herself  very  familiar  with 
science,  literature,  and  art. 

“  Singularly  destitute  of  near  relatives,  she  was  ex¬ 
tremely  devoted  to  an  aged  friend  who  had  lived  with 
her  for  years,  and  on  both  occasions  when  I  met  her  she 
■vas  hastening  home  to  her ;  the  last  time,  if  I  remember 
correctly,  to  keep  her  friend’s  birthday. 

“  She  was  very  conscientious  in  her  writing.  She  said 
she  always  wrote  as  well  as  she  possibly  could,  never 
doing  slovenly  work  for  the  sake  of  quicker  remuneration.” 

Miss  Edwards  was  a  woman  of  indomitable  courage  and 
perseverance,  else  she  could  never  have  done  the  work 
which  she  did.  From  a  child,  she  was  an  omniverous 


348 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


reader.  At  fourteen  she  had  read  Scott,  Bulwer,  Cooper, 
Dickens,  and  others,  as  her  own  words  in  the  Arena 
for  August,  1891,  attest:  “The  shelves  of  her  library 
devoted  to  the  British  poets  carry  me  back  to  a  time 
when  I  read  them  straight  through  without  a  break,  from 
Chaucer  to  Tennyson.  .  .  .  An  equally  voluminous  series 
of  histories  of  Greece  and  Borne,  and  of  translations  of 
the  Greek  and  Latin  poets,  marks  the  time  when  I  first 
became  deeply  interested  in  classic  antiquity.  To  this 
phase  also  belong  the  beginnings  of  those  archaeological 
works  which  I  have  of  late  years  accumulated,  almost  to 
the  exclusion  of  all  other  books,  as  well  as  my  collection 
of  volumes  upon  Homer,  which  nearly  fill  one  division  of 
a  bookcase. 

“  When  I  left  London,  some  six  and  twenty  years  ago, 
to  settle  at  Westbury-on-Trym,  I  also  added  to  my  library 
a  large  number  of  works  ou  the  fine  arts,  feeling,  as  every 
lover  of  pictures  must  do,  that  it  is  necessary  in  some 
way  or  another  to  make  up  for  the  loss  of  the  National 
Gallery,  the  South  Kensington  Museum,  and  other  de¬ 
lightful  places  which  I  was  leaving  behind.  At  this  time, 
also,  I  had  a  passion  for  Turner,  and  eagerly  collected 
his  engraved  works,  of  which  I  believe  I  possess  all. 
I  think  I  may  say  the  same  of  Samuel  Prout.  Of  Shake¬ 
speare  I  have  almost  as  many  editions  as  I  have  transla¬ 
tions  of  Homer ;  and  of  European  histories,  works  of 
reference  generally,  a  writer  who  lives  in  the  country 
must,  of  course,  possess  a  goodly  number.” 

Miss  Edwards  also  had  among  her  books  many  valuable 
gifts  from  authors:  the  “King  and  the  Book,”  from 
Browning;  “Many  Moods,”  from  John  Addington 
Symonds,  dedicated  to  her ;  a  presentation  copy  of  Sir 
Theodore  Martin’s  translation  of  the  “Odes  of  Horace,” 


AMELIA  BLANDF011D  EDWARDS. 


349 


and  Lord  Lytton’s  version  of  the  Odes,  with  a  letter 
addressed  to  her  at  the  time  of  its  publication. 

“  JMy  books,”  says  Miss  Edwards,  “have  for  many 
years  been  my  daily  companions,  teachers,  and  friends. 
Merely  to  lean  back  in  one’s  chair,  now  and  then  —  merely 
to  lean  back  and  look  at  them  —  is  a  capital  pleasure,  a 
stimulus,  and,  in  some  sense,  a  gain.  .  .  .  The  tired 
brain  is  consciously  refreshed  by  it.” 

Beside  books,  pictures,  and  pottery,  treasures  from 
Egypt  abound  in  her  home :  shrivelled  dates,  lentils, 
nuts,  and  a  piece  of  bread  from  the  tombs  of  Thebes, 
three  mummied  hands,  and  the  heads  of  two  ancient 
Egyptians  “  in  a  wardrobe  in  her  bedroom.” 

Miss  Edwards  was  a  brilliant  woman  mentally  and  soci¬ 
ally  ;  esteemed  not  less  for  her  sympathetic  heart  and  her 
warm  feeling  for  America  than  for  her  learning  and  her 
ability.  The  “  London  Academy,”  to  which  she  contrib¬ 
uted  often,  and  would  accept  no  remuneration,  says  of 
her  articles:  “We  know  not  whether  to  admire  in  them 
most  the  brilliance  of  their  narrative  style  or  the  accuracy 
with  which  each  detail  was  verified.  She  was  in  truth 
a  model  contributor  —  never  declining  a  request,  punctual 
to  her  promises,  writing  in  a  clear,  bold  hand,  and  consid¬ 
erate  of  the  convenience  of  printer  as  well  as  editor.” 

Her  home  was  “The  Larches,”  a  rambling  and  pictur¬ 
esque  house  set  in  the  midst  of  larches  and  high  shrubs, 
in  an  acre  of  ground,  at  Westbury-on-Trym,  four  miles 
from  Bristol,  in  the  west  of  England.  Flowers  grew 
everywhere,  and  birds  were  welcome  visitors.  Under  the 
larch-trees  Miss  Edwards  walked  two  miles  daily  for  exer¬ 
cise  :  a  half  mile  before  breakfast,  a  half  mile  after  break¬ 
fast,  and  a  mile  or  more  late  in  the  afternoon. 

“  To  walk  these  two  miles  per  diem.”  she  said,  “is  a 


350 


FAMOUS  TYPES  OF  WOMANHOOD. 


Draconian  law  which  I  impose  upon  myself  during  all 
seasons  of  the  year.  When  the  snow  lies  deep  in  winter 
it  is  our  old  gardener’s  first  duty  in  the  morning  to  sweep 
‘  Miss  Edwards’s  path,’  as  well  as  to  clear  two  or  three 
large  spaces  on  the  lawn,  in  which  the  wild  birds  may  be 
fed.  The  wild  birds  are  our  intimate  friends  and  peren¬ 
nial  visitors,  for  whom  we  keep  an  open  table  d'  hute 
throughout  the  year.  By  feeding  them  in  summer  we  lose 
less  fruit  than  our  neighbors  ;  and  by  feeding  them  in  win¬ 
ter  we  preserve  the  lives  of  our  little  summer  friends, 
whose  songs  are  the  delight  of  ourselves  and  our  neigh¬ 
bors  in  the  springtime.” 

Miss  Edwards’s  death,  humanly  speaking,  came  all  too 
early,  just  as  she  was  in  the  midst  of  her  greatest  work. 
She  had  planned  much  more  labor,  but  other  hands  must 
do  it,  if  it  be  done  at  all.  Her  winsome  presence  and 
generous  nature  will  be  gratefully  remembered ;  while 
her  scholarship  and  her  usefulness  in  the  world  of  thought 
will  ever  be  an  inspiration. 

She  was  a  member  of  many  learned  societies,  such  as 
the  Biblical,  Archaeological,  and  the  Society  for  Hellenic 
Studies.  She  wrote  the  article  upon  Egyptology  in  the 
Encyclopaedia  Brittanica,  and  the  supplementary  article 
for  the  American  edition  on  Recent  Discoveries  in  Egypt. 
By  her  will  she  endowed  a  chair  of  Egyptology,  and  gave 
her  valuable  library  to  Somerville  Hall,  a  college  for 
women  at  Oxford. 


Date  Due 


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